A weighty subject

I love my husband. I have just come back from the most frustrating walk ever (lots of pot holes and bins mid pavement which interrupted my bottom clenching power walking), weighed myself, and quelle surprise I have not lost an ounce in weight in the whole 2 weeks and 1 day of my new fitness regime. Feeling mightily hacked off, I read a mail from my husband that amongst other things said, "just got up to speed with your blog.....I cant believe I am still copping grief re the plane ride home!  I think you need to mention that you told me to take the seat and that I came back repeatedly to see if you wanted to swap...." I should be cross that the bit he finds most newsworthy is that, and not the emotional stuff, but I have to admit it tickled me rather  - and his comment, "point of criticism.... what bit of anonymous do you not get Ana Boulter??" Whoops - I had been planning on doing this anonymously but as you can see I forgot.
Anyway back to the point - having been back to back pregnant for 18 months, its fair to say I am twice the woman I was. My hips and ribs have widened in preparation for each pregnancy and never quite gone back in, so we're not getting off to a brilliant start. A hormonal trip to the hairdresser after miscarriage no.6 resulted in my long brown hair being chopped off and replaced with short blonde locks. All well and good but as my head is now disproportionately small to the size of my large, rotund body, I look ridiculous and the short hair only helps accentuate that. A 34B is a thing of the past and more likely to be a motorway junction number than a bra size for me. Then there's the fact that I have been almost on bed rest since October 2009 - if you have had one miscarriage every subsequent pregnancy comes with a 'do not even breath too hard' warning and exertion is most definitely not advised. Its a bit hard with a toddler to stick to the rules entirely but it does mean that any gym ambitions were dead and buried, which to be honest wasn't something I mourned much. I was quite good at 'what the hell, I'll be pregnant and much fatter than this soon so yes please I'll have the cheeseboard for pud,' in between pregnancy's. Then when pregnant, there is the carb ambush that happens at around 5 weeks and doesn't go until around 12-16 weeks which is basically is Mother Nature (we're gently re-building our relationship - if she can make my cycle return to 28 days and therefore fit in with the flights back to the UK for the IVF then we might be friends again) making sure that any thoughts of weight control during pregnancy are banished before they even started. As if its not depressing enough to not be pregnant, my stomach that used to be famed among friends for its flatness looks as though it is hosting a party for at least 2 babies, my bottom could house another 3 or 4, and for the first time in my life my cheekbones that used to be relatively prominent and my only source of pleasure in my face are nowhere to be seen. I am in the words of Marjorie Dawes from Little Britain's Fat Fighters, FAAAAAAT.
I will never reveal my weight to anyone, if my husband found out what I weigh I would be mortified and go into hiding. I was so concerned that he would see the horrible truth when we were being weighed at our IVF appointment I made the nurse cup her hand around the paper where she was writing the dreaded figure. Poor woman looked like a child trying to hide the answers to a spelling test, I was on the scales poised to rugby tackle her to the ground if she so much as let the light spill through her fingers and reveal the true horror. However, I can reveal that I am over a stone heavier than when this whole debacle started - in fact I am a stone and a half heavier but the extra 7lb really does make it seem hopeless and I am resigned to the fact that unless I have some surgery to remove a buttock, a stone is realistically all I can hope to lose between now and April. And that's pushing it.
So,  I have been on a mad quest to shift the fat which has basically resulted in my own ritual humiliation. I power walk every day, looking like a total idiot (I am not allowed to run because of bad back and dodgy pelvis). On day one I was seen by no less than four of the uber glamorous mothers whose children are in my sons class. They are the type who wear skinny jeans that are baggy on them, hair is always blow dried and perfect by 7am, if they wear make-up you can barely tell so perfectly is it applied. I tend to drop my son off with a touch of the previous days mascara under my eyes making my shadows darker than they already are, wearing one of my husbands jumpers over leggings in an attempt to cover the horror of my bottom and thighs, head hanging as low as it can so that I am not recognised, ready for my walk. I did think about teaching my son to say 'bye bye Granny' to me when he goes into school therefore deflecting attention from my true identity, but as my mother would consider it a disaster if she hit 8 stone and would fit in perfectly with the glamorous mums, I realise that would never cut the mustard. Plus even though she is hobbit sized she is pretty fierce when she wants to be and would kill me if she found out my deception on her next visit out here. 
So, I drop the little man off at school and begin my walk which according to my physio should last no longer than 30 minutes. I don't think she has quite grasped the urgency of the weight loss, so I do 45-60 minutes. When I first started I was passed TWICE by a Chinese woman in full make-up, pearls and very smart walking kit. Buns of steel, and frankly a body I would kill for. On her second passing I got a closer look and realised she was probably around 80. 
I do love my walking though, when I am not dodging anyone I know. I listen to The Archers, which recently has been more of an emotional roller coaster than my life - some idiot in the BBC decided to kill off Nigel Pargiter, one of the best characters, and it has been harrowing listening. Brilliantly done but not ideal if you are already on an emotional precipice. I have cried my way around my walk on many occasions for poor Nigel. Mind you, it does rather put things in perspective and if I think we are having a hard time I only need to think of poor Elizabeth and her children who now no longer have a husband or father. Dreadful (and an example of how I tend to talk about fictitious characters or famous people as though it was real life and they are my  friends - don't start me on Giuliana and Bill Rancic). I do clinical pilates twice a week and have just started horse riding again (we really need to keep this from my phsyio - given that running is a no go she would likely strike me off her books if she found out - I got a roasting from my mother in law on this subject too so the less said about the gee gee's the better), so you would think that I would be dropping some weight. I eat dust and drink air - ok not true but I do eat a low calorie diet, I am not drinking alcohol but I am drinking the equivalent quantity (i.e a lot) of chinese tea's that allegedly boost your metabolism. As a Nearly Doctor I know the only way to shift weight is to eat less and exercise more, so I am doing both. I think I have found perhaps the first flaw in being a Nearly Doctor as opposed to an Actual Doctor - I obviously missed the lesson that talked about the flaws in this theory, of which from personal experience there are clearly many. I do think I would like a little sign to carry around that say's 'fat for medical reasons.' 
Despite the distinct lack of weight loss, I am not giving up, I will definitely continue the regime as if nothing else I am enjoying the newly found scenery and beauty of Hong Kong that I didn't even know existed before (how dreadful is that - we've lived here for 5 years!) and despite getting lost on the trails quite regularly, when I do stick to the beaten track I am building up a few walking 'buddies' who nod and smile as they pass - at  my random outfit probably. I do feel better for the exercise and while it does not seem to be having the effect of restoring my body to its former mediocracy, it is at least filling my time while my son is at school and my house feels empty. I have some 'me' time to think about whatever I like, which for the past week has been our sons dreadful behaviour since starting school (do we really want to do IVF? I can barely cope with the one I have!) although he has been making me laugh a lot so I can forgive him a bit. He asked me last week if he could take his 'massive big poo' to school to show Miss Eileen? How can you not laugh at that?
And on that note - it could be so much worse, my friend has Giardia and hasn't lost a lb. Now that really is something to complain about.