I won’t even begin to tally up just how many points’ worth of exercise I’ve accrued this morning as I’ve stomped around the kitchen being mad. I’m now sitting in the kitchen with a bottom lip sticking so far out there’s a very real possibility that I might actually trip over it. And it’s all over a stand-off with the bitch in the bathroom.
Those of you who’ve read the blog for a while will know this is an encounter that always carries the potential to go badly wrong. I mean everybody knows that the bathroom scale is predisposed to tell lies, and add numbers just to piss you off for no apparent reason. But I was so sure this morning as I stepped on feeling skinny that this week there’d be good news and maybe even an accompanying fanfare you know..? I’ve been awesome.
Lets look at the evidence. I woke up feeling skinny. In the context of the peaks and valleys of a very fat body, my belly was at lower altitude than my boobs, which is kind of my home-made measure. Closer to the mattress you know? I’ve eaten within points all week. In total I’ve completed about two hours on the hurt machine and I’ve walked just over seventeen miles with the furry one. So a very solid week, and yet the needle hasn’t budged. How DARE she pull a stunt like this on me today?
I did try to make it say something else…I mentally mapped out a grid system in my bathroom and tried the scale on every square to make sure it wasn’t the floor tiles underneath that were making it give a false reading. I mean that’s just a precaution, right? And you know, I might have taken the battery out and blown it before putting it back in and trying again.
Nothing. Not even a quarter of a poxy pound. All that effort, I could weep. The Asshole voice is having a party in my head and has already started to write the reactionary shopping list, which I can guarantee includes cheese balls and Haagen Dazs. Topics in his repertoire this morning include what’s the point, you gave it your best shot but why not have just a day off and start again tomorrow, you deserve better and this diet ain’t treating you right so maybe it’s time to give up, it’s not worth the heartache babe…you get the gist.
I know it happens. I understand all about plateaux you know, and why sometimes your body just needs to adjust a little before it continues the downward march. I’ve had a steady loss for the last five weeks, and on an intellectual level I get it. But on an emotional level, I’m not fucking interested, I’m just mad that I worked my socks off to stand still. I pushed through actual pain this week to do the hard yards with one objective in mind and I have nothing to show for it.
So, following most crappy encounters with the bitch in the bathroom, the only thing guaranteed to make me feel better is an act of defiance. And I’ve got to be honest and tell you that in the past it’s pretty much always involved chewing. And I’ve just eaten a big fat bacon sandwich.
The only difference this time is I’d always planned to have that big fat bacon sandwich this morning, it was pre-pointed and I’ve got to say absolutely delish. My act of defiance today will be to pull on my walking boots and set off with my furry friend, who is so far not impressed with the day either since he didn’t get bacon. I’m hoping the walk will make both of us feel better.
To the asshole, the diet and the bitch in the bathroom I’ve got to say…pathetic effort guys, it’ll take more than that to knock this fat girl out of the sweet spot 🙂
