Them's the breaks

Break 1: needing one. It’s been a hell of a week. I’m thrilled it’s a long weekend (even if the forecast IS pants) and I have Tuesday off too. Usually when we go up to Suffolk, I drive on the way there and bf on the way back, although I hate driving I know I must take my turn. Actually it’s a bit like exercise, I think I hate it but it’s more the idea of it – usually when I’m actually doing it, it’s okay. NB This does not apply to running; with running I hated the idea of it and then I hated it whilst I was doing it and then I hated that it didn’t have any effect on my weight. I did quite like the bit when I’d stopped running though – not exercise endorphins just relief that it was over until the next time. This week bf emailed me and said we’d take his (bigger and comfier) car up to Suffolk this weekend as he thought I just needed to rest. This morning as he left for work at 6.30am as I pressed snooze for the gazillionth time, he said “Lie in for you tomorrow. And the next day. AND the next day. And the day after that”. Bring. It. On.

Break 2: one of those days when you just can’t catch one. Tuesday was the pinnacle of horror this week. It was one of THOSE days. My boss was having one of her psycho turns being very vile to me and vile to my member of staff. I was so busy I didn’t have time to even have a cup of tea – for fear I’d need to take the time to go to the loo. I had a splitting headache. I’d cycled in and had faced a stiff head wind the whole way - and I only just managed to leave at 7pm as I knew they’d lock my bike in otherwise. Every single red light was against me cycling home (at BREAKneck speed - ha ha!). Every last one. It improved briefly that night when bf made me an excellent omelette of ham, mushrooms (which he’d cooked slowly in stock, mindful of The Diet) and a dollop of fat free fromage frais. He was critical of it, saying it’s impossible to make a good omelette with spray oil but I thought it looked fantastic – and it tasted better. I’m not making my own omelettes anymore – his are better, he is now my omelette bitch (um, please..). Then I weighed myself on Wednesday to find that I’d not lost so much as an ounce. Still up from Devon! Still up from Christmas!! Argghhh.

AND I had a very weird dream in the week: I was competing in the Olympic yak and cart driving event. For anyone unfamiliear with this event, you ran round the course WITH your yak and its cart, encouraging it on. I came second. Out of two. The girl who won had long, thick, blonde, wavy hair and long brown legs. And I bet her yak loved her more too. Humph.

So, this weekend. We’re going out to dinner and we’re having tea with friends. I’m always more stressed out about things like this if I feel I have been doing the right things but not losing weight – after all, if I can’t lose weight being exemplary, what chance do I have when there are things to negotiate around? I’m trying to accept that actually sometimes these things have no bearing at all. Right/wrong eating – you don’t always see it coming through on the scales. Confusing and infuriating but true. The weather looks uncertain so I think we won’t be walking for more than 2-3 hours each day – if that. I’m going to try NOT to fret about the next WI all weekend but enjoy it whilst still being sensible and mindful. I have learnt that being sensible means NOT opening a tub of chocolate meringues whilst under pressure at work. Yes, I’m within syns but even so.