My calories for today:
Breakfast: Special K – 158 calories.
Snack: Banana – 105 calories.
Lunch: Weight Watchers tomato soup – 76 calories.
Snack: Weight Watchers raspberry yoghurt – 48 calories.
Dinner: Half a Weight Watchers beef hotpot – 200 calories (probably less, given it was 230 for the whole meal).
Total consumed: 587 calories.
Couch to 5K running programme week 3 – 120 calories.
Treadmill – 413 calories.
30 Day Shred Level 2 – 117 calories.
Treadmill – 420 calories.
Total burned: 1,070 calories.
Net: Minus 483 calories.
Finally, I got a decent amount of exercise today! But as you may have noticed I ate WAY too much and I am disgusted by myself. The reason? My mum actually thinks I’m eating 800 calories a day… Well that’s not strictly speaking true, she knows I’m eating less but she can never find out by how much. As a result, on the weekends I have to up my calorie intake so I can stay at under 500 during the week without her getting too suspicious. Problem is she hovers just over my shoulder every meal time checking that I’m eating her definition of “enough”. It’s that definition and her unhealthy cooking that got me fat in the first place! Anyway, she just finished up yelling at me because she worked out I haven’t eaten my 800 today and has said that unless I can provide “proof” I’ve eaten more tomorrow then I can’t use my treadmill. What treadmill I hear you ask? The treadmill that I saved long and hard for and brought out of the measly £8 a month pocket money I get. The treadmill I sacrificed buying clothes for (with the same £8 a month) even though I currently have about one pair of jeans and five t-shirts hanging in my wardrobe. The very same treadmill she was so keen for me to buy. It seriously does my head in. I mean here I am working my freaking ass off, getting actual results and all I ask for is a little support. She doesn’t even need to be proud, I just want her to tolerate what I’m doing. Arrgh it looks like I’ll be walking on egg shells for the next couple of days, I don’t know what I’ll do with her scrutinising my every move over Christmas. The holidays are suddenly looking a whole lot less inviting.