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Food halls are the devil.

I found myself in one this afternoon, trying to find something to eat. And I couldn't make a rational decision to save my life.

I wanted creamy butter chicken and rice, deep-fried sesame prawn toast, curry laksa, blueberry muffins, chicken schnitzel sandwiches with mayonnaise and cheese, donuts and pork buns.

The smells spun my head and while I knew I could walk over to the sandwich counter and order something sensible, all I wanted to do was choose the worst possible food I could.

I ended up getting some vegetables, tofu and pork (unfortunately battered and fried, but I couldn't tell under the sauce when I ordered it) on steamed rice. Not the worst decision I could have made, but not ideal.

I left most of the rice and left feeling deeply unsatisfied. My husband had to steer me physically past the donut shop before I bought a bag of cinnamon sugar donuts and ate the lot.

Even as I type this, he's promising to keep me out of kitchen because I could still eat and eat and eat like a crazy woman. I've had a perfectly good dinner of spaghetti bolognese and yet I could still empty the fridge straight into my mouth.

I don't understand what is motivating this. I'm feeling better, several long-term financial issues are being resolved, life is pretty good. Why is it that all I can think of is to inhale the contents of the kitchen?

Someone tie me up and gag me before I do something I regret...

Didn't gain, didn't lose. All good when you're eating for a family of three and doing no exercise.

Seriously, I knew I didn't have a handle on my emotional eating and maybe I never will. And I know this was an extraordinary situation (it better bloody be, if it happens again, I'm taking hostages) and that I can't beat myself up for making poor choices. But this was a seriously tough week and it shook me up in unexpected ways.

I found myself contemplating my body as if it were an alien entity. This body could not be mine, it was causing me too much pain! MY body wouldn't do that to me, this must be an alien body! (Seriously, on a scale of 1 to 10, the pain was an 11 and you're talking to someone who has experienced 2nd & 3rd degree burns, I know from pain.)

Not only that, but it was such intimate pain. I felt completely asexual and separate from myself. When my husband stroked my back to soothe me, I was shocked at the gentleness of his touch. Previously, the touch of others had only bought pain.

I even had my usual coping strategies taken away. I couldn't sit and read blogs or watch TV or read. I couldn't go for a relaxing walk. I couldn't snuggle comfortably with my husband. I couldn't even take a long, hot, bubbly bath. The bath had to be a particular temperature and couldn't contain anything that would irritate the wound.

I know this all sounds like hyperbole for an overachieving haemorrhoid, but this is what was going through my head and this is what lead me to eating the way I did. Almost an entire large, deep-pan, seafood pizza, an entire serving of Thai red duck curry, cakes, snacks, chocolate, utter rubbish.

On top of all of that food, I couldn't exercise. Now, I splurge. I let myself have things that most dieters would blanch at. But I do sufficient exercise that it allows me to still lose weight. And I'm totally cognisant of the fact that should I stop exercising, I will not be able to eat the way I do because I will gain weight pretty quickly.

Last week I felt totally out of control and helpless because my coping mechanisms weren't there anymore. I didn't even want to go to WW on Monday, I was still too out of it and too worried about the damage I'd inflicted.

Fortunately, the damage was minimal to my weight loss. I'm slowly healing and I've started gently exercising again.

The thing that has shocked me most is that something so small, so seemingly insignificant, can wreak such havoc on your best laid plans.

And if you get nothing else out of this entry, for the love of all that's holy, GET ENOUGH FIBRE! I cannot emphasise that enough. If you are suffering from the slightest constipation, do something about it. Trust me, you do NOT want this. I would not wish what I went through on my worst enemies.

So, Tree, what prompted you to eat 74 points worth of food in two days and not take any exercise?

This did.

Before I get onto my late weigh-in (sorry, life keeps happening at me recently and I've no time to update), I thought I'd share a bit of external validation with you.

I needed a new sports bra to keep the girls under control and I thought I'd need to be measured to figure out what size I was now. I told the girl there that I thought I was a 14DD. She squinted at me and said, "I would have said a 12..."

I resisted the urge to offer to have her children.

Then it was off to work where someone I've been working with since October last year turned to me and said, "You're looking so good! You can really see how much you've lost!"

And finally, I donated blood today and they make you weigh in. I told the nurse on duty my current weight and that I had been watching my weight. She frowned at me. "So you're telling me you've lost 7kg (15.4lb) in the 10 weeks since you last donated just through diet and exercise?"

Yes, bitch, I have! (Well, I didn't say the 'bitch' part...)

So onto the weigh in. And before I tell you, I'd just like to explain that I think my metabolism is on crack. Why?

Because I managed to lose 1.4kg (3lb) last week.

WTF?

I have no idea how I managed this. The only thing I can put it down to is ramping up the exercise this month. I've doubled the weights I'm lifting and I've got copies of the Winsor Pilates Power Sculpting Ab and Buns & Thighs workouts.

Which brings me to my next bone of contention.

Sweet merciful crap.

Mari Winsor is out to kill me.

That woman was a Spanish Inquisitor in a previous life. The way she chirpily wanders around saying inane things like, "I bet you're feeling that!" or "I know it really hurts, but it's worth it!" with a smile and demonic hellfire in her eyes. She's eeeeeeeeeevil!

Yes, Mari, I AM feeling it! Here, let me shove white hot pokers up your arse and jiggle them around a bit so that you can see how much I'm feeling it!

And as for it being 'worth it' and that I can expect 'dramatic results' if I do this two or three times a week, for the pain I'm going through, these are the sorts of dramatic results I'm bloody well expecting!

         
Butts have been changed to protect identities.
No butts were harmed in the creation of this entry.

And just for the record, doing searches on Google for 'before' photos of liposuction patients and calling out to your husband, "Hon, does this look like my butt?" ranks pretty damn high on the freak-o-meter.

Disclaimer: I'm not a real doctor nor do I have a medical background. Nothing in this entry should be construed as medical advice, it's just my own research and experience. All care but no responsibility taken. May cause nausea, vomiting and/or diarrhoea. Batteries not included. Must be installed by a licensed electrician.

I've ranted before about the evils of bathroom scales and how you can't rely solely on their results. Today we have a real life example of how this works.

Let's take these twin sisters. Identical in weight, height and body structure. They've both been losing weight by eating smaller portions of better food and doing more exercise.

This month, our two heroines have both weighed in and discovered that over four weeks, they've only lost 1.4kg (3lb) each. Now, that's still a loss, but they are disappointed that their weight loss rate has slowed down. Strangely, though, their favourite jeans are falling off their hips.

Tree1, who relies entirely on the results of her bathroom scales, wails in despair at her weight loss slowing down and can't understand why her jeans are loose when the scales tell her she's still a long way to go from goal (aka still a fat heifer). In her despair, she trips and falls face-first into a gallon of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream and has to eat her way to freedom, weeping pitifully with each bite.

Tree2, who has been taking her measurements ever since they made positive changes to their eating and exercise habits, frowns at her jeans and at the scales and pulls out her trusty tape measure. Tree2 understands that her scales don't tell her the whole story and while they are saying that she still has a long way to go to goal (aka still in fat heifer territory), other measurements might tell a different story (she's a stunning goddess of fabulous proportion). She takes the same measurements she has been every month; neck, upper arm, bust, under bust, waist, abdomen, hips, thighs and calves.

Her eyes get very big.

Her measurements are very small. She's lost a total of 18cm (7") in the past month. While her weight loss has slowed down, her body is rapidly shrinking. She realises that all her exercise has helped her to lose fat but also to put on muscle, which would cause her weight loss to slow a bit, but would show up in shrinking dress-sizes. By taking her measurements as well as weighing herself, Tree2 gets a better picture of her weight loss progress.

Tree2 is so happy, she manages to avoid the Ben & Jerry facial and treats herself to a new pair of jeans instead.

This is why it is so important to make sure you don't just rely on your scales. Seriously, the number on the scales is just a nice goal to aim for. In the grand scheme of things, it's only really important if you're a jockey or a boxer. What's more important is fitting into that favourite dress or feeling healthier or lowering your cholesterol count.

This is a dramatisation. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Except I really did lose 18cm this month. Woo!

This has been another quality rant by Dr Tree™ - Making nutritional and fitness mistakes for 20 years so you don’t have to.

Just when you thought I was done with the bad 80s lyrics...

A gain this week. A measly .1kg (.2lb), but a gain.

There's a reason why I've used this lyric.

I've been here twice before. I've bounced between the same couple of kilos here twice before. I've given up here twice before.

I mentioned a couple of entries ago that I need to be more focused than ever. This gain reminds me that I can't slack off here. I need to remain vigilant.

The gain is not a gigantic surprise. We went to the movies twice this week (popcorn, choc tops and lollies), ate Chinese one night and I spent the afternoon in the pub with an old friend yesterday. And no, I wasn't drinking pints of water.

While I was still within my points mostly, the popcorn probably helped me retain water, as would the alcohol. There were too many little slips this week.

I mostly made good choices, but it's easy at this point to let things slip. To not count that splash of olive oil in the pan, to underestimate the points in that steak, to slap some butter on that potato.

My body feels comfortable here. I think it likes being at this weight. I'm not ready to be comfortable here, though. Sure, I have bought smaller clothes and I need a belt on just about everything else I own or I'll be arrested for public nudity. But I'm a long way from being done.

The first time I got to this weight, I bounced up and down between 80kg and 85kg and then I just gave up because it was all too much like hard work. I had joined WW thinking that I would lose weight without any effort, I would somehow reach goal through fat osmosis or something.

The second time I got around this weight, my then boyfriend had just emigrated to Australia and moved in, I was celebrating my 30th and I was taking a month off work. I got distracted (unsurprisingly), lost sight of my goals and fell back into bad habits. My weight wavered again between 80kg and 85kg before finally shooting into the stratosphere to my highest weight ever.

I won't let that happen again. If I bite it, I'll write it. I'll be more disciplined about my choices. I'm NOT going to bounce between 80kg and 85kg again. I'm going to slowly chip away at this, get over this hill and make a new start as a 70s girl.

Guess I'll have to start researching some new 70s lyrics.

Bad 80s hair band moment there, but I've dropped.7kg (1.5lb) to make it past the halfway mark to my WW goal weight!

Check this out...

          

GO ME!

I even did the 'halfway there' boogie on the scales at the meeting.

So much for me whining that I wasn't going to lose any weight yesterday, serves me bloody right for getting on the scale mid-week anyway. See, this is why I tell people just to weigh in once a week. Just when you think you know what your body is up to and what it’s going to do next, it throws a curve ball.

Mind you, I didn't use it as an excuse to hurl myself off the wagon, I did use it to refocus on my goals and establish what I was aiming for next. It felt good to have smaller goals to aim for. The 5kg goals are good, but sometimes the next 5kg looks like it's a long way away.

I won't get back on the scales mid-week, scout’s honour. Well, at least until the next time. I think I'm just going to give up on trying to understand how my body works and just hang on for the ride.

P.S. My favourite 3/4 length jeans that I only started fitting into in July, can now be slid off my hips without undoing the buttons or zip. Looks like I need to go shopping...

A little birdie told me that I wasn’t going to lose again this week.

Oh, who am I kidding. I’m a howling hypocrite, I got on the scales this morning, the day before weigh-in, because I just didn’t feel like I’d lost anything.

I know, I’m the girl who tells you not to weigh-in more than once a week. Yes, I’m a hypocrite, especially when the scale told me the bad news and I felt like absolute hell.

There are a bajillion reasons why I might not lose anything tomorrow.

For example, I haven’t been getting all my water. I’ve said before that I need 3lts every day. Well, I’ve only been getting about two thirds of that. I also had very salty Mexican food on Friday and I may still be retaining water just because of my cycle.

So chances are I’ve got a stack of water weight still on me.

I’ve also been a bit slack about my eating habits. I’ve gone over my points five days this week. Not by much, a point or two here and there, but it’s the little things, like deciding to crumb and pan-fry my pork filet rather than grill it or polishing off a bottle of wine with a friend one night.

Now, I’ve done enough exercise this week to cover all of these little indiscretions (and more!), but my body isn’t used to me eating a little extra most days of the week.

But, instead of stomping around the park on my walk this morning, berating myself for falling off the wagon, I tried something different.

I used this as an opportunity to refocus myself on my goals. Because that’s what this is. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, it’s an opportunity to have a look at what I’m doing and make sure I’m working towards my goals.

I always have my 100 reasons to do this, but they are goals for when I get there, not for along the way. And I have some whopping big goals to aim for soon.

For example, when I lose another .5kg (1.1lb), I will be exactly half way to my WW goal weight. Which is, without putting too fine a point on it, pretty fucking impressive. Half a kilo? That’s nothing. I’ve already done it 34 times, I can do it again, easy, peasy lemon-squeezy.

The next goal? A mere additional 2.5kg (5.5lb) and I’ll be back to my lowest recorded weight. I haven’t been there for two years. I’d like to see it again. It would also mean I’ve lost 20kg (44lb), which, again, without putting too fine a point on it, is really fucking impressive.

After that? A measly .7kg (1.5lb) will put me at my lowest recorded weight EVER! I’ll finally be a 70s girl! I haven’t been there for around 10 years or so. I’m dying to get back there again.

So I’m focusing closely on the next 3.7kg (8.1lb), in little steps. Because it will be the most significant weight I’ve ever lost.

It deserves my complete and undivided attention and it deserves everything I can do to achieve it.

And I will. Plateau, fucking schmateau. Not on my watch, baby.

"Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life..." -- Trainspotting

I'm about to throw myself into controversial waters here, I'm sure. I'm happy for people to disagree with me, even to articulate why they disagree with me (as long as it's done intelligently and with no insults), I have one request, though. I beg that you read through the entire entry before you start firing off comments or emails.

Here goes.

As far as I'm concerned, obesity is not a medical condition.

It's a choice.

Still with me? Good. Here's why.

Now, I 100% acknowledge that some medical conditions result in obesity. It's a symptom of that condition. But obesity is NOT a medical condition on its own.

Obesity is a symptom of our choice to make poor nutritional and fitness decisions.

People make a choice to eat food with poor nutritional value or choose to eat too much or choose not to exercise. It is a choice. You chose that behaviour. You did it to yourself.

Before you get hot under the collar, I'm one of you. I chose to eat more food than I needed. I chose not to exercise. I turned into a 100kg heifer. I didn't like that, so I chose something different.

I'm not saying anyone goes around thinking, "I think I'm going to inhale an Olympic-sized swimming pool full of French Fries and become a heifer from hell." It's not a deliberate, conscious, rational act. It's not a good or smart choice. But we choose to go through the drive-through at McDonalds and we choose to super-size it and we choose to eat it. We choose to make poor decisions over and over again and suddenly we find ourselves fat and unhappy.

Nobody holds a gun to your head to force you to eat poorly or too much or sit on the couch all day. You choose that.

People can whine about advertising influencing them to eat the wrong foods, but at the end of the day, it's still your choice to eat it or not.

We make excuses because nobody wants to face the real truth. We do this to ourselves. Nobody forces those Krispy Kremes down our throats.

This abdication of responsibility appals me. Trying to make obesity a medical condition so that people can abdicate all responsibility for creating their own situation upsets me. There are genuinely ill people out there who need medical treatment. People who's health conditions are not necessarily the result of poor nutritional decision-making.

If anything about obesity needs treatment, it's the reasons people choose to do this to themselves. Why do we medicate ourselves with food? Why do we neglect our health? These are the causes of the problem. This is what needs treating, not the symptom.

We need to examine our choices. Why did we choose to do something that is clearly not healthy and doesn't necessarily make us happy? Why did I choose to use food as something other than fuel?

Once we understand what influenced us to make these choices and resolve those issues, then making poor nutritional or fitness choices will be less of a problem.

It's something I'm still struggling with. It might be something I always struggle with. But it's up to me to take responsibility for what I've done to my body—for whatever reason I did it—and do something about it.

That's why I'm here.