Starting again, again

It seems to be the case that every few months I write this post. Perhaps I could just repaste what I have previously written?
But I am starting WeightWatchers again. I should say, I have NO DOUBT in my mind that WeightWatchers works. Sometimes I just don't. I get lazy, fed up and daunted by the mammoth task ahead of me. I genuinely feel very jealous of people who just have a wee half stone or stone to lose. Do they not know how EASY that would be??? (Of course I know it is NEVER easy but I like to make excuses to be annoyed with other people more fortunate that me).

The ongoing saga of my dodgy health continues. We are now at a stage where we do not know if it is vertigo, migraine, low blood pressure, stress, depression or something Very Bad Indeed. I am a pin cushion. I also rattle when I walk. But instead of comfort eating myself out of my worry I decided this week, after a particularly nasty fainting/ losing strength/ nausea episode to actually take better care of myself - properly.
I've bought fancy trainers (the ones which tone your bum while you walk - and I can tell you after my first outing in them my bum aches like the bejaysus) and a pair of jogging bottoms. I have eaten a big pile of soup. I have had my first "new me" weigh in (eeek, the months off WW have not been kind) and I have booked myself a weekend in Glasgow with my VBF. I am, and this is a big one, also going to cut back on my wine consumption.

So, as the saying goes, once more into the breach dear friends.

I went back last night

... And the damage wasn't as bad as I feared. I have put on 6lbs which, okay, isn't brilliant but isn't awful either. With good planning and being strict I can hopefully have that off by the time It's Got to be Perfect hits the shelves at the end of the month.
It's a strange feeling. I am cross with myself for slipping but I know I am still a good bit off where I was when I started in February so hopefully a good effort now will see a good result and see me get that little bit closet to goal.
I got an email from a friend who yesterday which reminded me that weightloss is a journey and that sometimes we take detours but as long as we get back on track that is all that matters.

So for now, my inner Sat Nav is reset and I'm back on the right road.

Hauling my sorry ass back to WeightWatchers

Did you laugh at them? All the posts where I said I was going to try really hard to be good and then, after a good week or two, go back to WeightWatchers?  You should have.
I've not been following the plan all summer and all the bad habits have kicked back in - most notably the few glasses of wine and bag of kettle crisps habit which is absolutely bloody lethal.
My clothes are feeling snugger and yesterday I went shopping for a new coat and was HORRIFIED by the site which greeted me in the mirror. I have no shape. I felt ugly - like deep to the bone ugly - and I was so horrified I went home and gave out to all around me in a very diva-ish way.
I cna hand on heart say that I was not a nice person to be around last night.
In February, when I first started WeightWatchers I was inspired by my son asking was I sure I wasn't pregnant as my tummy was so fat. I said at the time I could have got annoyed and lay down under it or I could do something about it. Seeing myself in the mirror yesterday I had that same epiphany.

I am under no illusions that it won't be damn hard work. I know I have good 10lbs to go to be back to where I was before the summer but I'm going to start because I owe it to myself.

I fell off the wagon

and hit myself hard on the way down.

Dear reader, it has been a tough few months - what with the vertigo, and the meh-ness and a virus type thing which soared through our house and hit everyone but the boy and with various other life stresses.
And I've eaten, quite a lot. And I've put on a few pounds, lost a few pounds, put on a few pounds etc and not progressed on my "weightloss" journey at all. I'm still here, still needing to lose another four stone, still feeling meh and in a vicious circle of eating to make myself feel better and then feeling worse because I've eaten.
I keep trying though, reminding myself that is not a sin to fall but only a sin to lie there. And I've made myself one of those irrational promises which seems like a good idea but maybe isn't. But the fact is, I can't face Weightwatchers at the moment. I know my leader is VERY supportive and lovely and I know she understands what I'm going through but I personally find it very hard to sit at a meeting feeling like a bit of a fraud.
So I'm taking a few weeks off. I've promised myself to do my very best to get below the magic number I was at.. and indeed to my next goal (which personally is 5.5lbs off) and then I'll go back to WW. Promise.

No one has ever looked at me in *that* way

I was cleaning the house today, mooching about, doing the dishes, loading the washer, trying to ignore the feeling of doom in the pit of my stomach and the feeling of dizzines at the top my head.
As I cleaned I switched on the TV for some background noise and Oprah was on. Now usually I'm working at this time on a Monday so I don't get to see Oprah but she was talking to some woman about weightloss. My attention was pricked. The woman - who is Star Jones - (I had no idea who Star Jones was..) had lost a big old pile of weight, it seems.
So I watched and I listened. I didn't get to hear how she lost the weight but she talked about how she felt afterwards. This bit almost made me cry. She explained how one day she was changing in the loo of a airplane after losing weight and came out and a man looked her up and down with approval.
"No one had ever looked at me like that before" she said and in that instant I knew what she meant. Sure my husband loves me and all but when it comes to members of the male sex I'm not a person who grabs attention for the right reasons. No one looks at me in that *that* way and do I know how I would cope if they did?
Nope.
Still, weigh in is tomorrow and hopefully the backward slide will be reversed.

And, a quick google of what Star Jones looked like before and after highlights just why she gets those admiring glances now.

Have to go cold turkey on the "wow"

My nephew, who is 22 months old and very cute when he is not giving me the evil eye, has christened chocolate "wow".
I can see his point.
Everytime he sees chocolate he shouts "wow", so the result is we have all started calling it "wow" and really, when you think about it chocolate is pretty wow... all that soft, chocolatey, melty goodness.

The problem is, I have developed a wow addiction in the last few weeks after doing really, really well with the diet and the scales are starting to move in the wrong direction.
This MUST stop. I do not want to undo the work I have done. I do not want to get fatter. I look at myself now and cringe when I think how I must have looked at 22lbs heavier. Yikes. And definitely not "wow".

So the wow is being consigned to the bin for now and I will get back on track. I won't use the excuse that I am feeling meh and have vertigo which would make a donkey boke to allow me to eat what I want when I want it.
I'm pretty sure I could stomach more than wow.

Let's hope.

The Claire went over the mountain

So last week I was on the plateau. My weightloss had stalled - completely - and I was scundered as we say round these parts.
I was scundered because I have so much to lose and it just felt like it was never, ever going to move no matter how little I ate or much I moved about or however many times I resisted the chocolate in the lovely red machine in work.
I needed something and when I went to WW class last night I was already in a foul mood. It had been an insanely busy day at work - the news was flooding in and phones kept ringing and I couldn't get anything done and I was worn out by the time I got into the car at the end of the day and drove to the meeting.
Everything the leader said I greeted with a bit of a snarl. Sure weightloss isn't easy - and frig all that pointing everything you eat because IT DOESN'T WORK ANYWAY. A Slimming World consultant had called into our office earlier that day and I was tempted to jack in WeightWatchers and try that instead.
Indeed as I waited to be weighed I told my sister that if I hadn't lost weight I would be jacking it in.
But I had lost weight - a whole 4lbs. And I was given a silver seven sticker and even though I'm almost 34 and I'm a proper grown up I felt very proud to get a sticker.
I've now lost 22lbs in 14 weeks and am a little closer to where I want to be. Sure I've still another 57lbs to lose to get to goal (trying not to sob at this) but I'm over this plateau and ready to keep going.

The Plateau

I joked on Facebook last night that it was ironic that I have hit a plateau in my weightloss given that I am still the size of a mountain.
Last night the scales declared a big fat stay the same.
I almost cried. In fact I think I might have stomped my feet and declared "S'not fair" and the advice given to me was to track everything this week and report back next.
Well I have been tracking (almost) everything and it hasn't helped...
So it's time for desperate measures.

Serious tracking - even the 3 mini smarties I ate this morning.
No drinking - this makes me want to kill myself, but ya know, needs must.
Cutting down on bread - and I've got that Crusts Away stuff and some Low Low Spread.
Not eating anything which cannot be pointed to within an inch of its life (no shop bought salads or sarnies).
The Pink and White obsession must end.
And I must walk more - not sure when I will find the time, but I will.


Oh, I've plateaued with book 5 as well... so it's time for desperate measures there too.
I've booked a week off work in which to write (no mammy duties allowed) - so I must resist the allure of Loose Women and other such nonsense.
How I wish I could squirrel myself away in a hotel for a week with just my laptop for company.

Monday monday

Weigh in day.
I'm almost ashamed to admit that in the last four weeks I've lost a paltry 1.5lbs. I lost a pound, a half a pound, gained half a pound and lost it again.
This depresses me because, in honesty, I've not been *that* bad.
Okay, so I've not been squeaky clean either but I've hardly been on a binge fest and being the weight that I am (which is mahoosive) it should still be coming off.
This week and last I've been good - well, 6 days out of seven. Saturday was a bit of a trainwreck but that aside I have been suitable depriving myself and eating healthy.
And yet the scales still hold a degree of fear for me tonight because I just feel stuck. I feel as if I did so well for the first two months but then it all ground to a staggering halt and no amount of walking, or pointing, or turning my back on sweets and chocolate is making a damn ounce of difference.

It's hard to force myself out to meetings now, knowing that the glow of a good weight loss isn't happening.

So keep your fingers crossed... and offer any and all tips you have for finding that enthusiasm when it feels all your best efforts are for nowt.

The wobble is gone but I face a couple of challenges...

On Saturday I found myselft staring at some new fad diet thingy in Boots. I can’t remember the name of the programme (my brain says Tony Robinson but I know that is *so* not right.. turnip soup anyone?) but it involved shakes, packet soups and diet bars.
It promises to melt the weight off ye (or similar) and I admit, I was tempted.

You see I’m 11 weeks into WeightWatchers and a journey that will no doubt take me around a year to get to goal and forever more to stay there and I know I've gained this week - not much, maybe a lb, but that puts me a lb further away from my goal.
In fairness I'll have gotten away with blue murder if I have only put a lb but when you have many, many lbs to lose well it all feels a bit much from time to time.
I'm trying to break it down into smaller goals but it is harder to think "Yay me!" when you are still in the same sized clothes and still on the warning level of the BMI scales. Slinky and svelte is a long way off.

My meeting is tonight. My usual WW companions aren't going so if I'm to go I'm to go on my own. This does not make me happy. To add that I'm going on my own in the knowledge that I've put weight on also does not make me happy.
A part of me (a big part, like my right thigh or something) doesn't want to go at all.
I do feel more in control now. I feel I've got my headspace right and I'm ready to start again with renewed vigour. I've bought new foods to try and have been out and about walking a little which has helped boost my natural endorphins. I feel I could be back in the zone for next week's meeting without having to face the scales of doom... but I can't hide from the journey - tough and all as it is. I have to take the rough with the smooth and have faith that one day, I'll make it. I've just over a year to go to the wedding dress deadline, so I have to.

The quest to fit into the dress rumbles on...

... as does my stomach.
I lost half a pound this week. A little part of me was disappointed. A bigger part of me was relieved. You see I had a dodgy Easter which hadn't shown on the scales. I knew it was following me around and was going to show itself at some stage - and there it was, last night with a small loss.
Which was better than a small gain (and definitely better than a big gain).

I now have 4.5 stone to lose, on the nose, to get to goal. This will actually have me thinner than I was on my wedding day - wouldn't that be a joy to slip the dress on and have it be too big? Although with two babies since then and a tummy which resembles the wrinkly skin that forms on the top of cooling custard, it is unlikely.

I have my own personal goals - smaller ones. It will be a big deal for me to lose another 9lbs, which will bring me into a new stone bracket.

It will then be my mission to get under the next stone bracket after that -I will really feel as if I'm making progress by then.

My BMI has already dropped 2.5 points. Unfortunately I will need to lose another 30lbs to no longer be classed as obese. Isn't it a little sad that I'm looking forward to the day when I can dance around the house shouting "I'm overweight! I'm overweight! Look at me, I'm over weight!"?

It has shocked me to work that out. That, in essence, I was 47lbs (more than three stone!) into the obese category. I knew I was heavy but that heavy???

Ah well, we march on... eating healthy and shedding weight. I'll get there eventually.

The wedding dress

Next year I will have been married for 10 years. (If we don't kill each other between times).
It will also have been 10 years since I fitted into the gorgeous Ivory Duchesse Satin Ronald Joyce gown which I glided up the aisle in.
With a boned bodice, off the shoulder detail and a sweeping full skirt it was *the dress of dreams*.
I loved it. I felt gorgeous in it. Looking back on the pictures I looked gorgeous in it - of course at the time I thought I was a big fatso bride.
By the time I came back from honeymoon (having put on the honeymoon half a stone) it was snug. By the time we reached anniversary number one it didn't fit. It has never fit again.
I dream (literally) of sliding it on and pulling the zip up effortlessly. I dream of feeling like a princess again.
But I'm a long way from princess-ness. I'm (gasp) almost 4 stone heavier than when I glided up that aisle and two dresses larger. My body is also irrevocably changed due to two pregnancies and the passing of ten years in which life has often been stressful.
It dawned on me last night, as I lay down to sleep, that I want to wear that dress again. And it's a goal I've not set myself as part of my ongoing Big Fat Weightloss Challenge. I hope, please God, that by May 26 of 2011 I'll be able to fit in my frock again. That gives me 13 months to lose just under four stone...at 1lb a week that is doable.
I promise if I do I will post a picture here for you all to laugh at see.

And the last day have gone like this...

The baby who never sleeps has exceeded her previous non-sleeping record.
She is teething and and she has a cold. This does not make for a happy baby. Nor does it make for a happy, or indeed productive, mammy. In fact how I got out the front door this morning is a little beyond me. I have vague memories of staring into the fridge trying to remember what I was doing and even vaguer memories of sort of coming too in the shower as I tried to get ready for work.
Sunday night was the most fun most traumatic yet. Madam woke, and coughed, and boked. We changed her and changed the bed sheets and she cuddled down beside me for the night. Except she didn't sleep. She woke. Sat up. Coughed. And boked. And then lay down, face first into the sick.
So we changed her, and bathed her, changed the bed sheets and she cuddled down beside me for the night. Except she didn't sleep. She woke, coughed and boked. You get the general picture.

Let me state now, there is no dose of prozac strong enough to cope with prolonged sleep deprivation. I feel as if I am losing my mind, slowly (or maybe not so slowly).

So if this is a little rambling then please forgive me. Normal service will resume - probably in about 18 years.

In other news, the WeightWatcher weightloss total has reached 11lbs.

I don't think I said...

But this week at WeightWatchers I found out I lost 4lbs.
Which brings my total weightloss in the last three weeks to 7lbs 7oz.

To put that in context I have lost an amount heavier than one of my children when they were new born (being 6lb 9oz and 6lb 9.5oz respectively).

A whole baby of fat.

Either that's a great achievement or just pretty damn gross.

Monday was an uncharacteristically good day

First of all when I dressed for work, my skirt waistband felt looser. This made me feel good - not twig like or anything but good.
Second of all when I went to the dreaded weigh in in Weight Watchers I was delighted to discover I have shed 3lbs. I did have to resist the urge to a post weigh splurge - but I did. I had some toast with Low Low cheese when I got home (within my points) and it was lovely.
Thirdly of all, I wrote about 750 words which was lovely.
Fourthly I have decided on a working title for book five which until further notice will be known as 'The 30 Something Crisis Club'.
And finally....



Drum roll please....





THE BABY WHO NEVER SLEEPS SLEPT THROUGH ALL NIGHT.

I thank you.

Duhn duhn duhhhhhnnnn

It's weigh in night tonight.
I feel less panicky today than I did last week but more panicky than I did the week before. (If that makes any sense at all).
I have been good as gold. Like seriously I should get a sticker from the teacher and a big smiley face drawn on my tracker. I have not over eaten at ALL. Not even once. I have lived on non-fat yoghurt, loads of veg, lean meats, new potatoes and ham salad sandwiches. Everything I have eaten - even if just a bite of the baby's dinner to check it has cooled - has been pointed and tracked.
If I've bitten it, I've written it.

My clothes feel looser. My waistbands have a little more give.
But, a sneaky pre-weigh in stand on the scales yesterday in my mum's revealed a zero weight loss.
Seriously?

Of course I have to make sure that when I do my official weigh in I'm in the same clothes, at the same time of day and on the same scales (eg tonight at my first full meeting) but I'm preparing myself for not having a loss and trying to sort it in my head that the weight loss will come. If my clothes feel looser already - the weight loss has to come.

Now I realise I am becoming a little bit of a diet bore - this will wear off. But when I went shopping yesterday and heard the dulcet tones of  Mika's 'Big Girl You Are Beautiful' blasting around the shop's music system I wanted to scream "NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!" in a very loonified way.

Yes of course larger ladies can be beautiful but me? No I don't feel it. I can't actually remember the last time I felt beautiful in anyway and while I know it won't be losing weight which makes me happy maybe it will give me more confidence in myself.

I have spent three years now promoting books and dreading getting my photo taken or going on telly. I never watch anything back that I do. I feel always self conscious. I am always waiting for someone to ask when the baby is due. I go into everything judging myself on my physical appearance even if, maybe, others are not doing so.
I have even convinced myself that being a bloater has really damaged my ability to get on the Late Late or get the same kind of coverage other skinnier, more attractive authors get. (This is nothing to do with my writing ability, of course... ;) )
I have had to accept that even as an author - someone who creates books in a very solitary way - I need to have a public image and at the moment I do not have one. I am just the fatty old dowdy mammy on the school run who sits her in jammies of an evening writing about skinny, glam women.

So I may fail again this time, or I may succeed but at least I will have tried and before I hit the big 4-0 (which is admittedly 6 years away) I will be happy with myself.

I have the DTs

No caffeine in almost 48 hours.
A day and a half of healthy, loads of veg eating.
A baby who STILL WON'T SLEEP

I am a shambling wreck my desk but I will not give in to the lure of caffeine. I shall fight the urge with every part of my body and I will be strong. Even if I fall asleep over my desk - which is not beyond the realms of possibility. In fact, given the droopiness of my eyelids and the easiness in which I start to snore while still awake, I think it is entirely possible.

But I've set myself some goals should I make it through the first 6 weeks of this experience I shall get my heair highlighted and buy new glasses. I shall treat myself to a pampering session the like of which no one has ever known.
As for WeightWatchers - I finished yesterday with enough points left over to save for a glass of wine at the weekend. Now that, my friends, is progress.

'That' section from Rainy Days and Tuesdays

... where Grace goes to a weightloss class as part of a bid to have her life transformed for the glossy mag she works for 'Northern People'.

I’m going to stand on the scales and Liam is going to take a picture (without looking at the result!) and my humiliation will be done and dusted for another day. The thing is, though, that I feel sick to the pit of my stomach. I have barely eaten a bite all day as if hoping my good intentions would be enough to shift an excess couple of stone of my body before stepping on the scales.



I’m wearing light cotton trousers and a T-shirt. I have flip flops on, and I have even declined to wear an underwired bra just in case it adds to my weight. I am more hungry than I have ever been in my life- my treat size Mars Bar going untouched in my lunch box today.


When Daisy phoned to say she would be late I’m sure I grunted something indecipherable down the phone to her in return. Seems one of her charge’s parents was running late and she couldn’t exactly leave little Katie to wait outside Happy Days on her own now could she? In my pre-weigh in rage and panic I thought Daisy was being entirely unreasonable to put the needs of a four year above those of her oldest, dearest, fattest pal!


Now my panic has switched to the silent variety, whereby I am in danger of chewing my nails, complete with fingers and most of my hands off, with nerves and I have broken out in a rather unattractive sweat- which is doing absolutely nothing for the make up I have caked on for my photoshoot. I seriously contemplate getting up and walking out, but then I would be falling at the first hurdle- letting Lollipop Louise, who had never needed to diet in her whole entire life, get one of over on me. Oh no, I must be strong- I’m in this for the long haul.


The door opens and I know Charlotte has arrived. I have heard much about Charlotte in recent years. I have even interviewed her over the phone in my Health and Beauty Editor days but I have never met her. She has a certain celebrity status in Derry. She is the woman who will help you lose weight, who will stick with you through thick and thin (literally) and who knows everything there could ever be to know about dropping dress sizes.


I’ve often wondered what she looked like- imagining some Derry version of mad Lizzie from TVam (Showing my age there!)- but instead I’m intrigued when I see a young, fairly normal woman in front of me. Yes, she is thin, but she isn’t gaunt. She looks, dare I say it, healthy and she doesn’t- much to my shock- look me up and down and give me a look which makes me think I am akin to something she has dragged in on the bottom of her shoe.


“You must be Grace,” she trills, shaking my hand firmly. “Louise has told me all about you. Are you ready to change your life?”


In the words of Lofty, the blue digger thing in ‘Bob in the Builder’, I reply: “Yeah, I think so.”


“C’mon then,” she says, “Let’s get you weighed and this picture thingy done before the rest of the class arrive. We don’t want to alert them to your secret mission do we?”


“I guess not,” I mutter, mentally visualising myself as Undercover Elephant- ready to set out on a new mission to find the leaner, slimmer, happier Mrs. Adams- last seen circa 2001.


Liam follows and starts working out lighting and focus and other such things. Charlotte takes her scales out, writes down my personal details on a little purple form, then asks me to stand on the scales and assess the damage.


I think about this for a moment. I can’t remember the last time I weighed myself. I’ve been in denial about my size for so long, it’s really not worth depressing myself by forcing bad news on me. I guess, given the comfort of my waist bands, the extra room I now like in my tops that I’m going to come in about the 14 stone mark. Taking a deep breath, I step on, my nerves jangling as Liam snaps contentedly from the corner. I can’t look down. I cannot bear to see those numbers glaring up at me, so I step off the scales again and take my seat beside Charlotte.


“Well done for making the first move,” she says, congratulating me on getting (or did she say fitting?) through the door to tonight’s meeting. “Right,” she says, “here is the deal. You weigh 15 stone and 5 lbs.”


“What the fuck?” the words jump out of my mouth as quickly as I can think them and my hand flies up to mouth as if in some desperate attempt to push them back in.


“Don’t get annoyed Grace. That is that last time you see that number again. It’s downwards from here on in. I promise.”


At that stage, my face crimson, I sense Liam is still snapping away and I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole- only I’m willing to bet even the ground would get full up before I was properly consumed.


“Do you want to set a goal?” she asks and I think about what I would like. I remember being 11 stone just before the wedding and feeling fabulous so I tell her to put that down on my card- ignoring the fact that I would need to four stone and five pounds to reach that goal (61lbs if you want to think of it that way- 122 packets of sausages).

So I went ....

And the panic was there. I sat outside in my car, in the pouring rain and felt my heart thunder.
You would have thought I was headed for the green mile, not the weighing scales.
My two sisters joined me - they have been WeightWatching for a while now and doing quite well - and they knew what to do, where to go, who to talk to, what to pay, which I admit made it a little easier.
But it taking away the thundering thumping of my heart - that was there to stay.
The leader, Betty, seemed lovely. Skinny but lovely. She didn't seem like the judgemental type but then again I wasn't telling her I'd overeaten on my points or sunk a dozen bottles of wine or the like.
I stood on the scales and yes, it was bad. Very bad. But not beyond what I expected. It just felt odd seeing it there in black and white.
So I've a small goal to reach - 5% of my bodyweight. And then it is onwards and downwards hopefully.

Hubby, however, who knows me so well was less impressed. When I asked him if he was proud of me when I came home he replied: "No. Anyone can sign up for a class. Ask me again next week, or in a few weeks' time."
He nearly got a slap. (or at least a crack over the back of a head with a bag of salad).

While I see his point that anyone, technically, can sign up for a class it took a lot of courage for me to do so last night.

But anyhow, this morning I clicked into my Notes from the Universe and it told me this much...


Claire, sometimes you have to let go, to stake your claim. Be still, to move forward. Give, to receive. Cry, to feel the joy. Pretend, to make it real. Fake it, before you make it. And sometimes, oddly enough, you must first decide to feel their love, to find it was there all along.

Therefore I dub today, and the rest of this week/ month/ year "fake it til you make it" 2010

Rainy Days and Mondays...

I must dig out the passage in Rainy Days and Tuesdays when Grace first goes to Weightloss Wonders. It’s been a long time since I read it - even longer since I wrote it.
All I can say is that three years, three books, one extra baby and a couple of extra stone later I’m about to face the same thing.
I’m scared. Like proper scared. Like heart thumping non-stop, tightness in my chest feeling like I’m going to be sick scared.
I know what I weigh - given a pound or two for time of day, weight of clothes, whether or not I’ve been to the loo.
I know that is scary.
And I know that last week my son asked me was I pregnant because I was “really, really fat”.
I cried that night - because he is at an age where he notices such things and he knows that fat isn’t good. I never want him to be ashamed of me - but more than that I want to be there to see him and his sister grow up. I want to feel healthy - less ashamed to be me. I want me back - just like Grace did in Rainy Days and Tuesdays.
But the fear won’t go away and I feel as if I could sit down in the middle of the floor and cry.
So, WeightWatchers it is.