wake up call

Yesterday I consulted my GP for an ear infection. Straightforward enough - ear spray and no swimming in the meantime. As we'd been away for three years, I was regarded as a new patient, and as such, eligible to have my blood pressure taken. I wasn't altogether surprised that the reading was bordering on high. A few days ago I'd been aware of feeling strange after an argument with someone and suspected it might be my blood pressure.



I told my GP, a delightful Portuguese woman, that I needed to lose weight. I wanted to say that before she did.



With my dietitian's training, I know much of what there is to know about dieting. I also know about problems with allergies, foods which cause us to retain fluid. I know all this stuff. I know that salty foods are bad for me weight wise, that although I rarely add salt to cooking let alone at the table, my penchant for cheese of any description is problematic.
















I know all this and yet there's this cognitive dissonance - wanting to be slimmer, have more energy, be healthier, all the stuff that millions of women world-wide go through - gazing at clothes and knowing they'd look ridiculous on someone my size; feeling slim on the inside then noticing my reflection in a mirror, through glass, worst of all on camera and feeling horrified. Then there's the health risk: heart attack, stroke, cancer. But I love my food. I have no other vices. I might pedal away on my exercise bike on the days I don't swim, but that's not enough. My calorie and salt intake aren't low enough so that the exercise has any chance of doing more than maintaining my high weight.







And so today - several months after I stuck the notice up on the fridge announcing my determination to lose copious amounts of weight before next summer ( a goal where I've yet to achieve anything - see post: August 22, 'Finished'), I begin a lower salt diet. Off to a cracking start, replacing my bog standard breakfast of rye bread and soft cheese, with cornflakes and chopped up apple and banana. Other planned behaviour changes are not eating anything but fruit after a certain time in the evening, increasing my water intake. And eating more garlic might help... The fridge notice and blog might not have shamed me into succeeding; perhaps the sphygmomanometer reading will frighten me into action.

And if I don't stick to this, then I have accept partial responsibility for anything that goes wrong with me, health-wise. A harsh thought, but an honest one.







Seriously yours


Jane