By Kerre McIvor on 29th October 2013, in Columnist
All of my friends are losing weight. They are inspirational, they really are. They’ve been carrying round that extra 10kg so many of us have – and they decided, individually and separately, to get rid of it.
They’re all doing it in different ways. Two are using a combination of diet and exercise – particularly the terribly fashionable 5:2 diet. This is the one created by a British doctor, which advises you to eat normally for five days, then on two days of the week you restrict your calories to about 500 for women.
The doctor recommends you spend your 500 wisely – you don’t opt for half a bottle of wine as your sole sustenance for the day; rather you’d have lean chicken and vegetables. It’s worked for both of them – they’ve dropped a dress size each and feel fitter and stronger.
Another friend has signed up to Jenny Craig. She’s lost a lot of weight and is looking as good as I’ve ever seen her, and a fourth friend is on the Optifast diet and has shed 20kg.
As for me, I’m a lot better off than I was at the start of the year, thanks to a fantastic new trainer who flogs me twice a week and leaves me red-faced, dripping with sweat and feeling great.
I’m back in all my clothes and much stronger than I’ve ever been in my life, but I could look even better if I emulated my friends and focused on what I was putting into my mouth, rather than trying to work it off.
The trouble is, I love food… and if I’m deprived of food, I become feral. Or hangry as the kids call it – the anger you feel when you’re hungry.
I envy those people to whom food is simply a fuel, something they consume to keep themselves going. For me, food is art and love. Many of my memories centre around eating.
When I think of my first trip to Italy, it’s not the architecture or paintings that stand out – it’s the steamed artichoke with garlic and olive oil that I had in a little restaurant off the Via Veneto. Simple and absolutely to die for.
The snapper sliders at Al Brown’s Depot restaurant. The smoked kahawai Tom had caught just hours earlier off the beach at Mahanga. The sauterne-rubbed brie that oozed at you if you looked sideways at it, from a cheese shop in London.
So, the idea of sipping on clear soups and choking down steamed chicken and veges twice a week doesn’t do it for me. Nor does eating processed food out of packets.
I like to make my meals from scratch – chopping the onion, sauteing the garlic, casseroling the lamb shanks. Still, my friends are looking great, so I’m going to have to do something or I’ll be left far behind in the hotness stakes. I might try having a liquid Sunday – restricting myself to juices, smoothies and soups.
I’m not going to count the calories, but surely a liquid day would be better than an eggs Benedict and roast lamb. And if it’s a liquid day, a glass of pinot noir to celebrate the end of a weekend would be acceptable.
As well as reading her column, listen to Kerre on Newstalk ZB, Monday to Thursday, 8pm to midnight.