I could get used to this…having packed such a lot in to the last few days I feel like I’ve already had my weekend, and yet it’s only Sunday with a Bank Holiday tomorrow...get in. I just had my weekly encounter with the bitch in the bathroom and the number hasn’t moved this week, which is annoying, but all it drew from me was a Paddington stare and a silent fuck you. To be honest, it hasn’t put a dink in my Sunday at all – I’m still riding the euphoria of the last couple of days.
On that though…whilst I sincerely appreciate all the love and the compliments which have come my way, I’d like to point out that it would have been much more helpful if you’d all emailed and said you didn’t look bad but Christ on a bike look at the size of your arse...I’ve got the Asshole on my case now with a full blown campaign designed to persuade me that enough is enough.
In the past, it’s sometimes taken just one compliment for me to down tools. Such-a-body said I’m looking good so I think I can leave it there, well done me, I’m done. And when I actually think about it, a compliment combined with me feeling better generally has pretty much guaranteed that me and whatever diet I was doing would head directly to splitzville. Dee and the diet remain the best of friends and wish each other well for the future but are now consciously uncoupling and will be seeing other people…
I need to shut the Asshole down immediately…I’m still eight stones too heavy for my frame and whilst I’m able to do far more now than I could at my heaviest I’m a million miles away from the person I see in the daydreams which I’ve hugged to myself for the last few months, you know? Me, sashaying down the road in skinny jeans without a care in the world. Me, whizzing up that mountain in Cuba without breaking a sweat. Me, enjoying myself doing whatever without giving a monkey’s chuff about what I might look like.
I can pretty much write the script of how it would go if I took my foot off the gas now…I’d be careful for ten minutes and then lose the plot altogether, which is basically what I’ve done my whole life. I think it was Dr. Phil who used to say that the best predictor of future behaviour is past behaviour…he’s got a point, right?
Even when I did the VLC liquid diet and got to my skinniest weight I still stopped a bit short of the goal weight I’d set myself when I started because I’d reached the point where one more chalky soup would have tipped me over the edge. I mean, I might have actually even killed someone. As soon as that BMI number nudged point nought nought nought one inside the boundary of normal that was it. Finito.
What I’ve come to realise is that the number you moot as your ideal number at the start of your journey is an important psychological milestone. Actually mine isn’t a number, it’s a dress size. UK 12…that’s my holy grail. If I stop at a 14 or a 16, I’ll just continue to bounce around because I’ve set size 12 as my anchor. My cornerstone. So if I stop short, essentially I’m buggered.
I love how you all jumped in to make me feel a million dollars, you knew instinctively that I needed that confidence boost and good Lord did you ever come through for me. But I’m going to tuck those lovely words away for a while now, okay? I might wheel them out once in a while if I’m having a down day, or if the Asshole’s chewing my ear and eroding my confidence. But for now, I need to gently shut the door on them and get on with the business of getting skinny!
