So I woke up on Sunday feeling really skinny, you know that way where you’re laid in bed and you put your hand on your stomach and it’s at a lower altitude than your head? I must’ve laid in bed for a good half an hour debating whether or not to chance my arm with the bitch in the bathroom, or whether just to call it, you know? I feel skinny therefore I am. I’ve obviously lost weight this week. Girl done good, the end.
I decided I needed to know. I could sense my Asshole voice gearing up to rub salt in the wound…you stuck, again? Really?? That’s so unfair, you tried so hard and totally gave it your best shot but look you’re over fifty now, and your body has obviously settled at where it’s meant to be…eighteen stone is a good weight for you.
The fuck it is. And I wasn’t scared of the number as such…I was more worried about the drastic measures that I was muttering about under my breath if I’d been forced to step off for a fourth week with no movement. I was seriously worried that I might demand an appointment to have my jaws wired or try to get my stomach tied in a knot. Surely she wouldn’t dare …I swear, even the dog was sweating as I nudged the bitch onto the correct tile, but to everyone’s relief the number had gone down. Two pounds off.
Well, I say that. The first time I got on it said two pounds off. Then I got on another twice just to make sure and it stayed at two. Once more for good measure and it said three so I nearly broke my neck getting on for a fourth time hoping it would continue going up. I should have stopped at three because the needle went back down to two, and I stubbed my toe on the bath.
Note to self, I clearly weigh more when I’m grinning like the village idiot, so in future I’ll stay mardy. But whatever, the impasse is broken. Two pounds off, and I’ll take that thank you very much. I deserved those two pounds, you know? I worked really hard, in fact last week I walked almost thirty miles, fitted in five exercise classes and stuck to my food plan. The Asshole voice thinks it’s a fucking travesty that I didn’t lose ten pounds and between you and me I agree, but I’m keeping schtum…don’t want to piss off the Gods of Skinny by appearing ungrateful, right?
So yesterday, you’d have thought that buoyed by my success, I’d ace the diet, and you’d be right, I did. Right up until the point that a work colleague rocked up to a late meeting with scooby snacks. One packet of salt and vinegar crisps and two Oreo cookies later I had to re-think my dinner options. I wouldn’t care but I don’t even like Oreo cookies all that much. I mean they’re okay, you know if you’re desperate. For emergencies. But I wasn’t desperate, not even a little bit and there was no emergency. They were just there in front of me for the taking, and I felt entitled. Silly moo.
Whatever…I’m back in the saddle and we continue on. I’d like to think maybe I just paused to admire the view, after all it’s a while since I’ve stood in this spot…I’m officially lighter than I’ve been in probably five years, and when push comes to shove, I toughed it out, right? I faced down the plateau without throwing the towel in. I found something to celebrate…resilience, patience, whatever you want to call it, it’s ass was mine.
Come on, lets push on…that skinny life is waiting 🙂
