You may remember that I waged war on Scales of Doom after their – frankly - poor pronouncement last week. I suppose I realised that I may have been biting off more than I can chew, that I was David against Goliath or (for Lesley) Sheffield Wednesday against Chelsea. SoD hammered this point home this morning when I, bleary eyed after not enough sleep and tired after a week of early starts to get all this exercise in, nervously consulted it. It couldn’t quite decide whether I had lost or gained a measly half a pound. To lose half a pound with all that exercise (3 runs, 3 cycle rides, people!) is depressingly pathetic, to GAIN half a pound is pathetically depressing. In the end, SoD got sick of my sodding about, jumping on and off it, and told me that I’d gained a pound and a half. Chastened, I returned SoD to its lair and worked on ignoring its threatened 1.5lbs gain.
Annoyingly, I was pretty confident that I would have good news to report this morning – I’d even started formulating the post in my head! It seems that all that exercise has passed SoD by (but it does appear to remember the scone). But I resisted more scones the next day AND Krispy Kremes – should that automatically remove lard from my personage? In my head when I do this, there are clacker style boards - like the old-style train announcement boards - taking ounces off me.
And stupidly, even masochistically given my ego-bashing at the hands of the phantom wedding outfit, I tried on lots of my summer skirts yesterday as I removed them from deep storage (optimistically) to cram them into my wardrobe. The good news is that I might be able to squeeze into 4 – the minimum I need for work – the bad news is that several things that were a little tight a month ago, and that I was therefore hoping would be okay now, weren’t. In fact, there was no discernable difference. So it seems that I am not losing inches either.
Just to reassure you after your lovely comments to my last but one post (The Long and Whinging Road) that this does not mean I’m giving up. Oh no, this a battle unto death. I don’t even think that’s an exaggeration. I’m never going to stop trying to be slimmer. Sometimes I take some time to lick my wounds (and, er, the odd chocolate bar) but I always come back – bloody, beaten but unbowed.
Of course, I do feel that after – what? – 3 odd years of really putting my back into this, that I should be at the battling to maintain stage (and I don’t underestimate that that’s a whole new offensive in the war against flab) and not fighting to get down to and beyond my lowest weight over that period - or even my post LL weight (currently 2 st, 3 lbs heavier than my lightest weight which was the summer before last).
Realistically I’m only going to manage a max of 3 runs and 2 cycle rides in next week as I’m not at work on Friday. So stick that in your pipe, SoD, and smoke it. Brave words but I know I'll be quaking again - still feel it owes me though!
Btw, LOVE the image of Curlygirl giving the Debenhams cubicle a good kicking (comments on The Long and Whinging Road) – don’t mess with the redheads, people!