Sunday, 23 September 2018

My Quest From Flab To Fab

As I write (type, iPhone notes) this, I am halfway through an all inclusive trip to Ibiza where I have indulged in a fair amount of carby goodness. 
This, however, is not the problem. The problem is that when it came to laying on the beach and basking in the glorious Ibiza sun, I refused to remove my coverall , or my playsuit or my shorts. Every day I have sat on the beach I’ve refused to be just down to my swimwear, and when asked why by my twin, my answer was simple : I hate how I look.
This has come as a surprise to me, as when I was prancing around in front of my mirror in Leeds in said swimsuits, I felt chic, confident and was praising the surgical gods for my enhanced cleavage which looked glorious with no padding or support. 
As soon as I hit the beach however, my entire self confidence shrivelled up and I chose to wear extra layers. Even as I write this, I’m assessing my remaining swimwear for what I can wear to be the most covered on the beach and not melt in the heat. 
I tried to put it down to “well I don’t want to burn so I have to keep this top / these shorts / this playsuit on for the good of my skin”, but the reality is a month away from the gym and countless bags of gnocchi and filled pasta have wreaked havoc on my body. I’m also hugely guilty of skipping meals in favour of black coffee when I’m in a hurry, which has resulted in me picking up one too many Victoria sponge slices whilst walking past the supermarket on the way to my bus.

It also doesn’t help that I have to stand in the presence of my twin who is tiny and tanned , which has resulted in me deleting many photos that she has taken of me whilst we’ve been away. Next to her, I feel like a marshmallow - all pale and flumpy whilst she lays next to me like a Twiget - tan and thin. 
Instead of sitting indoors and crying about my current form, it’s given me a massive push to get back to the gym and start eating correctly again. 
I am in no way saying I’m overweight, or large, but for my frame which I’ve always prided myself in being a size 8, clothes starting to become too tight is not what I wanted or needed, and this has become the perfect tool to motivate me on. I’ve already done a food order for when I get back to Leeds in a week , and I am already browsing the spinning timetables for when I manage to drag myself there after work. There’s nothing quite like a sweaty , screaming individual bellowing at you to “climb your own proverbial mountain” to get you straight back in to the swing of things. 
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