March!!! How did that happen? January lasted for ten zillion years…. then February lasted about as long as a Family Sized Galaxy in the possession of a menopausal woman.
I decide to consult my weight loss spreadsheet I set up 6 weeks ago when I decided to lose 44lbs so I could be classed as overweight rather than obese. After various calculations it turns out I now have 50lbs to go!. I am good at sums but even if you aren’t – you can tell this is not exactly a success story. Oprah won’t be coming knocking asking me to be a poster girl for Weight Watchers. My underactive thyroid diagnosis with the related medication was supposed to spur on my weight loss – but despite monitoring things closely by jumping on the scales six or seven times a day – nothing! Nada!!. Am fecking raging – and a little concerned as have googled more on an underactive thyroid and it appears it is not simply a cause for celebration and weight loss as I had originally thought.
More googling tells me that it is the Menopausal Monster who has some responsibility for stealing my figure as well as my sanity (it is possible my addiction to wine and chocolate has also contributed – but lets face it, if losing weight was as simple as giving those things up then we’d all be bloody doing it!). Apparently lower estrogen levels make gaining weight much more likely – and also changes the distribution of weight as the fat all gathers round your belly in the menopausal years. Well I could be the feckin perfect case study for that!!! I was blessed (and I could cry with how much I took it for granted) by being fairly slim til I hit my forties. I did get fat once for a few months when I was much younger after a particularly pleasurable 6 months in the States living off pizza and ice cream. I came home with a pot belly and was so upset about it (despite the fact I was still three stone lighter than I am now) but one benefit was that so many people would gave up their seat for me on trains and buses believing I was pregnant. On one memorable occasion I got upgraded to first class on a mobbed train as the guard said he could not leave someone in ‘my condition’ sitting on the floor. It was slightly marred by the fact I could not take advantage of the free alcohol being served as I feared disapproving looks when I was younger (don’t give a shit now though- in fact I almost revel in them). But now I am way beyond child bearing age and my this combined with my invisibility as a middle aged woman means I don’t even get this benefit.
I am further thwarted by this bloomin snow. Can’t get to the supermarket for fruit and veg so having to live off kebabs and chips from the place at the end of the road supplemented by some galaxies from the local newsagent. Two of the very few places still open and both owners probably planning a few weeks in a five star hotel in the Maldives once the weather passes.
But I cannot give up. You see – they are knocking my school down. And they are doing an open day in 3 weeks time for a last look round and loads of my old classmates that I haven’t seen for over 30 years are going. My pal from school asked me to go but I said No coz I feckin hated school. Plus I was pipecleaner skinny at school and now I am a blancmange. And I don’t want everyone saying – ‘oh look at her can you believe what a fat arse she has now?’ Or ‘feck how did she get pregnant at her age – HAS to be bloody twins, maybe even triplets’. But then the Facebook posts and groups started and FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) struck. Also, my pal who is in touch with loads of people from school emailed me a list of all the ones she knew who were fatter than me, and it was quite a big list. I got her to cut and paste some of their photos from Facebook just to makes sure she wan’t lying – and it’s true – a number do look rather chunky!. So now I am going. And I will just make sure I stand beside the Chunksters for photos coz that will make me look much slimmer than I am.
I have accepted that I won’t be skinny in 3 weeks. Indeed empirical evidence suggests I may be even fatter than I am now. But a new outfit may just make me look cool for school. So I decided yesterday when we were sent home from work due to the snow (hooray) to stop and find a trendy outfit. One like I saw this cool girl on the bus wear. Jeans….Big Biker Boots…. plain white top…..and a nice smart leather jacket….gorgeous tousled hair. I watched her in awe til I noticed she could see a reflection of me staring at her in the window and was looking a little concerned for her safety.
My usual outfit since hitting my menopausal years has been leggings and a flowery smock – bought usually from Asda as I to the shopping – or Sainsbury’s which is so much better since they stopped selling that Gok Wan shite). And I have to be honest – I have fallen into a bit of a rut in terms of making an effort. Not quite at the going to the Kebab shop in my pajamas stage – but starting to feel like I have gone the extra mile if I go to work with my hair down. (Always with a scrunchie inside my bag though in case I get the sweats and have to tie it up after blasting it dry under the hand driers in the toilet). But I truly believe this is not me. There is a cool girl like on the bus that is just screaming to get out. (Actually, it is possible there may be three of four of them).
Suffice to say I did not enjoy my shopping trip. Hot flushes are not good when you are trying clothes on and mortified that you may have to hand the clothes back all covered in sweat…. Stupid changing rooms where the curtains don’t shut properly and all the young and the beautiful can see your not so young and beautiful body as they walk past And the rooms are too bloody small – so your arse sticks out through the flimsy curtains as you bend to pull jeans on. Couple that with an irritable disposition and it all gets rather messy.
Shops need to cater more for the menopausal woman. Toilets in the shop for the continual need to pee isn’t much to ask. Maybe some nice tunes from the 80s instead of the utter shite that passes for music these days. A quota of sales assistants must be over 40 or above a size 16. Feckin sizes need to go up way higher than a 16 too. Those bottle things that spray cool evian water should be in each cubicle. And maybe a wine dispenser too. And some beds to take a short nap on when the exertions of taking clothes on and off combined with menopausal fatigue get too much. And maybe most importantly – a therapist within each changing area. There could be a button like in the posh shops that you press for another size, but this one is an urgent alert for that therapist to rush to the cubicle and support you as you sob at the loss of your tiny slim firm body that you never feckin appreciated at the time. It is true – you don’t know what you have til it is bloody gone.
I did get my biker boots but they are the wide fitting ones from Marks and Spencer and strictly speaking not really biker ones – but they have a big buckle on them so I don’t think anyone will be able to tell.
And I discovered pregnancy jeans!!!! They are great – perfect for the menopausal middle.
And a nice loose smock over the top covers that elasticated waist perfectly!
Spreadsheet is now readjusted – 50lbs WILL go by 1 March 2019 .