For all my harping on about not getting weighed beyond maybe once a month or so, I do have a very important short term goal. I think I mentioned that some friends and I have a trip coming up in a few weeks – as part of that we’re doing a helicopter flight which is going to be amazing. However.
When we booked it a few months ago I was wildly optimistic about how much weight I would have lost by the time we went…for reasons we’ve discussed earlier in the week, that didn’t happen. I think I’m probably heavier now than was when I made my best guesstimate about how much I’d weigh at the point of lift-off. Whoops. Worst thing is, you have to put your weight on the booking form and mine wasn’t just ‘shave a bit off’…it was more ‘wander into the realm of fantasy and knock a shit load off because it’s ages away and I’m bound to be skinny by then’. Double whoops. In fact, FUCK. I don’t think they have any Chinooks.
I so badly didn’t want to be the heifer in the helicopter but according to the evil scales, last Sunday I was into double seat territory. All six of us want to go in the same ‘copter and I’ll feel so bad if that can’t happen because I scored an epic fail and didn’t take the weight off. So…my mission, which (better late than never) I have chosen to accept, is to dodge a two-seat charge and see something incredible with five of my closest friends. I have 6 weeks and 5 days to pull it out of the bag. They weigh you, right there in the office when you’re checking in, so every day I’m going to visualise two scenarios.
The first one is me, stepping on the scales as they’re preparing the helicopter, and triggering a big red flashing light, with an alarm sounding and bells ringing, and all my friends shaking their heads sadly as I’m despatched to a helicopter all of my own in the hope that it will make it off the ground. In the second scenario I’m in the same place, standing on the same scales (and I might even get one of ‘those’ looks from the clerk, you know the ones that skinny people reserve for fatties) but she quietly writes down my number and says ‘NEXT’.
I reckon that visualising will help. The first scenario would make me want to curl up and die right there on the spot. The second would be awkward enough but I’d be proud, and relieved and I’d feel like I’m the same as everyone else in my group. Even if the seatbelt almost cuts me in half, even if I have to sit in the middle at the back so as not to make the helicopter tip up, even with all that I’d be treated like everyone else, and that on its own is enough to make me feel as light as a feather.
I am going to do it.
