Struggling

I've written on here before about trying to find out what 'intolerance' I may have to something I'm eating. What I haven't delved into is just how unremittingly difficult I'm finding it all. So as well as forgiving another cat blip, you must forgive this self-indulgent moment of introspection.

You see, here I am, fitter than at probably any moment in my life. Happy that I can hop on a bike and ride xxx miles if I so wish (and yes, that is supposed to represent three figures - though I know someone who has just completed the Paris-Brest-Paris so I 'aint anything special in that regard, plus I'm not fast, just bloody-minded enough). And yet as I got fitter it seemed my belly expanded ever outward.

I've always had issues with the way I look. I was a lanky, spotty, geek through school. Not just someone who looked like a bit of a swot. Trust me. My first girlfriend didn't come round till I was 20, and there was a reason for that which was nothing to do with me not trying. Playing football my legs were compared to golf clubs - skinny shafts with giant driver heads at the end; my dad would send me to the doctor to see what could be done about my awful acne (the doctor confirming it was only mildly worse than usual for an adolescent); I had weakling arms and hair that wouldn't stay down (anyone remember Mr Magika? Yip, that was another nickname at times). I've been told my lips and my nose are too big.

My late 20s and turning 30 were a revelation. I discovered an ability to dress myself, toned the legs with cycling, got fit, discovered a hairstyle that worked by actually being designed to be messy. I uncovered a certain confidence. Or at least an ability to feign confidence - in truth it will always be an act, but at least I can don that mask. And yet that belly. I used to hate going to the swimming pool and the like because I was so skinny. Proportions have changed, but sadly too far for my gut. Swimming pools still remain places of torture.

And here's the thing. It isn't fat. I finally got up the courage to go to the doctor earlier this year. Something I'm eating, it would seem, is to blame. Irritable bowel syndrome caused by spasms form that intolerance which in turn create bloating. And when I say 'bloating' I look like I'm pregnant. The only way to discover the cause is a process of elimination, and that process has revealed gluten as the most likely of culprits. How trendy. And how bloody typical. Remember me blipping about being a beer snob? Or how I was discovering a love of, and ability for, baking? Take a wild guess at whether beer and baked good contain a lot of gluten...

I've still to try gluten-free beer, but I can tell you, I've made a couple of gluten-free loaves now and they're pretty bloody awful.

I pretty damned fed-up, already, of checking labels on things and considering options from a menu. And I find myself failing every now and then which just makes me feel worse. Tonight, for example, we went to Yo Sushi for something to eat after work. And I gave in to beer for the first time in a while. And then there's the breadcrumbs and glutinous rice (the clue's in the name) and and and...

I know it's not the end of the world, that people put up with far worse in their lives, but right here and right now, with my long and painful history of hating how I look and being reminded of it by various people on a regular basis, I'm struggling. And it's making coping with various other things like family stuff and what-you-really-want-to-do-with-your-life stuff virtually impossible.

Dress down days at work (as tomorrow is) I still wear shirts as t-shirts tend to be too close fitting. And yet everything that I truly love eating and drinking seems to contain gluten in some way. I'm tired of it all, and I've only been aware of and trying to sort the problem out for a short while. I'll soon be starting on some anti-spasm medication, and have some exercises to hopefully capitalise on the causes being apparent.

This is turning into waffle (another thing I can't eat... aaah, if you lose your sense of humour what do you have left...?). I might delete it later. I just needed to get that off my chest to try and make sense to myself f just why I'm feeling like I am, and have been for some time now. Quite simply I'd just like to look different to the way I do, or at the very least have my body allow me to attempt it without throwing medical spanners in the works.

At least it doesn't look like it's lactose intolerance. So I can still eat cheese.