Well, we’re calm again. I’m back on the Acomplia now — get thee behind me, phentermine, for another two months.

When I was growing up, we all used to gather round the radio to listen to Joyce Grenfell, she of monologue fame. She used to sing as well, and one of her songs was, As stately as a galleon. describing the way in which larger ladies of a certain age entered and moved around a room. I think that rather captures me right now. Although I’m less broad in the beam than I used to be, and the wind doesn’t blow the blouses out even two sheets to the wind — particularly since I’ve cut down on the alcohol — I have that slightly massive feeling when manoeuvring in a confined space, often wishing I had a pilot to tell me when to start turning if I want to sit in the chair rather than collide with it.

All of which makes my daily walk a little more challenging. In the neighbourhood, I’m the old lady in Jenny Joseph’s delightful poem, wearing purple some times and other outrageously awful clothes the rest. After all, if I’m going to get hot and sweaty, I don’t want to spoil anything good. But, instead of sitting down on the pavement when I’m tired, I plough on steadily come rain or shine.

Going back to that first day. It was early in the first round of phentermine and my doctor had given me the all-clear to start exercise. We’d agreed a rough weight loss program, which in my happy state, seemed likely to be a breeze. Alternating the phentermine and Acomplia (but not the Meridia) seemed just an interesting idea. I hadn’t faced the challenges then.

So, in the first week, I was going to walk at a steady pace for half an hour on five days. Then, in each subsequent week, I had to introduce what he called, “speed walking”. The idea was to increase the number of steps per minute so that I would really get my heart rate up. But, instead of doing this in one go, I was to walk faster for one minute in the second week, two minutes in the third week, and so on for two months when we would review progress.

Well, here was the voice of overconfidence (I blame the phentermine, of course). I set off like a bull looking for a china shop to invade and, within thirty seconds, was clutching a lamp post for support, hoping my breathing would calm down. I hadn’t so much as raised a canter for years, yet here I was trying to run like a three-year old filly in the One Thousand Guineas.

So, for the second time of asking, I came under starter’s orders and when the off came, moved gently away. Phentermine or no, the sudden shock had knocked sense into me. When I got back home, I fell on the bed and was asleep in seconds, not sure that exercise was for me. My husband smiled understandingly when he woke me later with a cup of hot sweet tea. After a hot bath, I started to feel better. The next day, my muscles were stiff but I was determined to walk it off. I was not going to let this beat me — thanks to the phentermine, I was feeling full of energy anyway.

I walked gently every day for two weeks before I began to feel confident enough to try increasing the speed again. Having started slowly, I built up to a short burst of faster speed, and then slowed over the next ten minutes. I read a few books and began to do stretching exercises before and after the walks. We have quite a large kitchen and I could strike these odd poses in private without attracting even more embarrassing attention than usual. By the end of two months, I was hardly moving with the grace of a gazelle (at my age, who would?), but at least the impression of a baby elephant was less convincing.

My gait (lovely pun possibilities as the way into new health) was never going to be athletic, but the muscle tone and stamina was improving. I could feel I was moving more freely and with more confidence (even though I was feeling the loss of the phentermine in my first washout period). When I celebrated my sixtieth birthday, one well-meaning friend had commented that I was into hip injury territory. Apparently, she’d been reading an article saying that older women were more likely to keel over and break their hips. No matter how true such a thing may be, the awfulness of the idea sticks with you and I’d been moving around more cautiously. Now I was beginning to feel, well, not adventurous, but at least willing to face the world with a bit more poise.

And at the end of those two months? I was seven pounds lighter and getting ready for my first experience with Acomplia. Looking back with a calm eye, I did all right after that false start. Not so bad for an old galleon after all.

Tagged with: acomplia • Phentermine