While I was in Melbourne a month ago, I fell off the wagon a little in trying to eat sensibly but those few days of transgression did not seem to do too much damage. I suppose one reason was because I did not go into a mad sugar frenzy, I was still eating sensibly even though my carb quotient went skywards. Also, I was walking a lot – all day every day and they were longs days. The third and final reason is possibly because the weight is moving sooooooo slowly off me, that I would not have noticed if it had ground to a halt for a while anyway.
My refusal to weigh myself has now put me in a sticky situation. My current clothes are looser on me, but they have been for a while and not I have no reliable gauge to tell if the weight loss has completely stopped or not. In the past when I have lost weight the pattern has been that a first chunk comes off, then I start ramping up the exercise and that helps the next chunk to come off. After that I start exercising like an obsessed person and the weight continues to drop.
Exercise this time is not really an option – or to be fair, exercise that is easy for me to do. Going for a run only requires a patch of time and the motivation to get my sneakers on, but I can not run. Going for a swim, however needs me to find a pool and deprive myself of music while I chug up and down the lanes.
I am walking more, but not much more as my knee is still sore and knowing as I do that my body’s constitution will be doing everything it can to hang on to its fat reserves, I suspect that is just not going to cut it. Cycling is another option but I will need to buy a cycle or again go to the gym for that and although I am not reading enough yet to really get myself in a good position for my next assignment, being at home rather than at the gym helps me to kid myself that I am about to open my files.
I was hoping that this Christmas, I might be able to see a few photos again where I was not leering out like a demented puffball, but as the days tick over it is looking increasing unlikely, which is disheartening. Perhaps if I got on the scales, I would be pleasantly surprised. The reality is more likely to be depression. Yesterday I felt a little down at the reversing of the world’s polarity and I ate a biscuit. It was the first biscuit I had eaten in about six months and I was about two biscuits short of opening a bottle of wine, so the less I can do to upset my fragile sense of well being the better, I reckon.
Maybe a tiny miracle will occur and my trousers will suddenly fall down, unable to stay up around my newly reduced waist, and maybe inspiration will descend and I will be able to work out how to present a frankly massive assignment topic in 3000 words and demonstrate adequate research, relevancy and a line of argument.
Or maybe not, but in the meantime I will try and stick with it, eat egg for breakfast, salad for lunch and vegetables for dinner and get some reading done.