Tag Archives: scale

A Tank Full Of Ooomph

joy

Yesterday was a brilliant day. You know how every so often you just get one of those days where everything hangs together perfectly, and you feel chock full to the brim with wellbeing? I woke up feeling refreshed – my friend and I had spent three hours getting wrinkly in the hot tub the night before, catching up with each others’ news on what was a gorgeous cold clear night – perfect hot tub weather. So I was relaxed when I went to bed, and I slept like a log.

I did worry, as I walked the green mile towards the bitch in the bathroom yesterday morning that I might be a bit waterlogged from the night before and therefore weighing heavy – yes I know it’s a ridiculous thought but by now you ought to know the kind of places my head tries to take me to. Anyway, I worried for nothing, and once I’d moved the scale to the third tile on the right, next to the bath (her most compliant spot) and kind of tested the water with just one eye open, I jumped on and off happily three more times just to keep reading the number 🙂

As I walked Charlie dog later in the morning, I decided not to wear a coat. The sun was shining, I was just in shirtsleeves, and there was nothing covering my backside. I mean, don’t take that literally…pants, obviously…but there was no jacket shielding the world from the rear view of my arse end as it wobbled its way up the hill, looking for all the world I’m sure like puppies fighting in a sack. And what’s more, I didn’t even give it a thought. That, my friends, is progress.

I couldn’t help feeling just a tiny bit excited, as I got to the top of the mile-long hill on our walk with breath in my lungs to spare, at the thought that this year I might not be facing another miserable summer like the last few. I haven’t graduated from black pants yet, which have been my wardrobe staple for the last five years at least, even on the hottest of summer days. But this year I just might, you know?

I can’t wait to feel cool and together on a warm day instead of sweating like a stuck pig, with chafing thighs and swollen feet whilst everyone else sashays around enjoying the feeling of the sun and a light breeze on their skin. And I know it’s going to be next summer before I get the full benefit of a skinny body, but I’m already more than fifty pounds down on last year…in a couple more months I hope to be touching seventy. I’m one third of the way through my journey and by the time we hit holidays in August I’m hoping to be way past the halfway point.

I still have to keep pinching myself, you know? I’m actually doing this! Cue massive cheesy grin!

I don’t know whether it’s the affirmation that I’m back on track, or the lovely spring-like weather over the weekend but something has filled my tank with oomph, and I feel full of the joys of spring. Full of hope…yes, that’s the word. Hope.

I’m still trying it on for size but early indications are that it’s a bloody awesome feeling 🙂

 

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When is a setback not a setback?

Evil-Scale

It might seem a bit weird to most folk that I’m two weeks into my new carb-free regime and until I got up this morning, I hadn’t been on the scales. Actually, in the spirit of full disclosure I hadn’t even been near the scales, for quite some time – we’ve never had a particularly close relationship for obvious reasons. It’s a mutually painful experience – trust me, you wouldn’t want me standing on you, and from my perspective they rarely deliver me good news.

Neither am I one of those people who monitors my waistline according to how my favourite jeans fit…for some years now my favourite jeans have been languishing in a bin bag at the back of a storage lock-up along with the christmas tree decorations and assorted other household items which are needed infrequently – my house is small so it’s kind of an overflow management arrangement – and most of my waistbands these days come courtesy of that esteemed designer Lucy Lastic, so would fail miserably as a vehicle of measurement.

I know some people who live in a constant state of anxiety about what the scales are going to say from week to week…in some cases even day to day. Apparently some scales lie, some have ‘moods’ so according to one lady I know can weigh heavy some days for no apparent reason at all. Sometimes for weeks at a time. Hmm.

To be honest, my way of looking at it is this; I don’t give a monkey’s chuff what the scales say but I would like to be slim…if I could be slim and 300lbs I wouldn’t mind being 300lbs at all. So as with many things in my life, if something or someone is almost certain to give me bad news, they tend to be relegated to the ‘if I don’t know, I won’t care so I’ll avoid you as long as I can’ place.

Going back to the scales, I kind of knew ‘ish’ what they’d tell me – but for some reason (maybe because pulling the blog together over the last week or so has brought this all into sharper focus) I woke up with a desire to know. And now I can’t un-ring that bell 🙁

Bloody hell!!! Not one of my better ideas. I woke feeling thin (it’s all relative but I don’t have to lift my head quite as high off the pillow to see my toes as I did 2 weeks ago), pleased that I’ve made it to day 14 of my diet without a single cheat, only for those damn scales to reveal that my best guess had been somewhere left of accurate. Logic tells me that over the last 2 weeks I have dropped more than a few pounds…I feel it. But standing on those scales and finding that I’m probably  a good stone heavier than I thought I might have been before I even started the diet was a bit of a blow, I’m not gonna lie.

I’ve spent several moments in quiet contemplation, and the only upside I can think of is that now at least I know – the scale of the task in hand is clear. But so is the size of the prize, and despite the crappy start to my day, I’m on it.

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