I’m sure that my few readers have abandoned me in disgust long since, but just in case anybody would like to know, here’s the story of the not-quite three months since my last post.
Eleven days after it, on the 29th of July 2010, I drove to the Big City where I used to live after work, to go to the dentist. I was a bit miffed when I got there to discover that they hadn’t bothered to tell me in advance that they were no longer offering NHS treatment. NHS dentists are at such a premium in this part of the world that I would happily drive 40 miles to get to one, but private dentistry I can get round the corner. I haven’t been back.
Anyway, I was in a bit of a mood when I left. Since the Boy had previously said that he’d make dinner, I phoned him to tell him I was coming back. “Call me when you get to junction 12 of the motorway” was his response. This was unusual, but since it’s about ten minutes away I figured that he was trying to time dinner to be ready when I walked through the door (I have given up on doing that – there’s always a traffic jam and then something ends up overcooked or cold. But I digress…). So I did.
When I got home, the house was immaculate, there were candles burning, and the Boy was clutching a little square box.
Oh. My. God.
We’d talked about marriage, so the question wasn’t totally out of the blue, but the timing was a beautiful surprise.
I said yes.
Then we went for dinner at our favourite restaurant. I had mozzarella salad, he had seared tuna, we shared a rare chateaubriand and a huge bucket of chips. We drank champagne and Languedoc and babbled about the future like excited children.
The next day, Friday, we went to a wedding and told his family. The day after, we went to another wedding and told mine. On Sunday we had 1st of August raclette with my mum and dad (it’s the day we conveniently remember that we’re Swiss in order to eat too much cheese). On Monday we drove home after enjoying fish and chips at a favourite haunt in Glasgow, where I was very touched that the waitress remembered and congratulated me, despite my not having been there for about five years.
I didn’t lose any weight that week, somewhat unsurprisingly, nor really for the next four or five. August brought a new set of people to see every weekend, each of whom wanted to celebrate with us. Which on the one hand is lovely, but on the other does lead to excesses. The month culminated with a three-day weekend where we invited everybody over for a six-mile country walk during the day followed by a party in the evening. Both events were lovely, and we were incredibly touched to see so many of our friends – 21 over the course of the day – turn out to celebrate with and congratulate us.
Looking at my spreadsheet I can see that I gained half a pound that week, bringing me back to half a pound down from the weight I was that day I went to the dentist. September was supposed to be the ‘getting back on it’ month – the partying was over and real life (and wedding planning) were back. Plus there was the 10K coming up.
Ah. I didn’t mention the 10K, did I? After running one in mid-July, I got all excited about running again and persuaded the Boy that we should enter another, on September 12th. It was 8 weeks away, plenty of time to train!
Or, as it turns out, plenty of time to, er, not run for seven weeks. I had been doing plenty of other exercise (just not quite enough to do more than hold steady against August’s excesses) but was still feeling pretty apprehensive.
Anyway, I digress. September. Back on it. Nose to the grindstone. Etc.
Yeah, not so much. Lose, gain, lose, same, same. Net loss for five weeks – 1lb. Net loss since P-day – 1.5lb.
Gah.
I’m getting pretty damn frustrated. This week I did everything right - ate my points, exercised five days out of seven - and was really expecting to lose. When I got on the scales and saw 10 stone 5 again, I’m afraid I cried.
At a WeightWatchers meeting.
In public.
Crap.
My Leader, possibly in an attempt to get me to stop bloody crying, decided that the solution is to ‘take the pressure off’. She’s moved my goal weight to 10 stone 4, the very highest it can be (and, by my maths, actually just outside the healthy BMI range, but never mind). I have mixed feelings about this. I originally set my goal at 9 stone 7 because I wanted getting there to be a genuine achievement, and for it to be a weight where I would be happy. If I got to 9 stone 9 or so and felt that I needed to lose more than another couple of pounds, I would have dropped it. As it is, getting to Goal will be a bit of an anticlimax, because I know that 10.4 will not be a happy weight for me. I have a very small frame and should probably be nearer nine stone than ten, but won’t know until I get there. All I know is that I am not comfortable with the amount of excess flab I am currently toting around.
On the other hand, Goal = free meetings = £20 per month to spend on something else, and there is no reason why I can’t keep losing weight.
So, my resolutions for this week:
Eleven days after it, on the 29th of July 2010, I drove to the Big City where I used to live after work, to go to the dentist. I was a bit miffed when I got there to discover that they hadn’t bothered to tell me in advance that they were no longer offering NHS treatment. NHS dentists are at such a premium in this part of the world that I would happily drive 40 miles to get to one, but private dentistry I can get round the corner. I haven’t been back.
Anyway, I was in a bit of a mood when I left. Since the Boy had previously said that he’d make dinner, I phoned him to tell him I was coming back. “Call me when you get to junction 12 of the motorway” was his response. This was unusual, but since it’s about ten minutes away I figured that he was trying to time dinner to be ready when I walked through the door (I have given up on doing that – there’s always a traffic jam and then something ends up overcooked or cold. But I digress…). So I did.
When I got home, the house was immaculate, there were candles burning, and the Boy was clutching a little square box.
Oh. My. God.
We’d talked about marriage, so the question wasn’t totally out of the blue, but the timing was a beautiful surprise.
I said yes.
Then we went for dinner at our favourite restaurant. I had mozzarella salad, he had seared tuna, we shared a rare chateaubriand and a huge bucket of chips. We drank champagne and Languedoc and babbled about the future like excited children.
The next day, Friday, we went to a wedding and told his family. The day after, we went to another wedding and told mine. On Sunday we had 1st of August raclette with my mum and dad (it’s the day we conveniently remember that we’re Swiss in order to eat too much cheese). On Monday we drove home after enjoying fish and chips at a favourite haunt in Glasgow, where I was very touched that the waitress remembered and congratulated me, despite my not having been there for about five years.
I didn’t lose any weight that week, somewhat unsurprisingly, nor really for the next four or five. August brought a new set of people to see every weekend, each of whom wanted to celebrate with us. Which on the one hand is lovely, but on the other does lead to excesses. The month culminated with a three-day weekend where we invited everybody over for a six-mile country walk during the day followed by a party in the evening. Both events were lovely, and we were incredibly touched to see so many of our friends – 21 over the course of the day – turn out to celebrate with and congratulate us.
Looking at my spreadsheet I can see that I gained half a pound that week, bringing me back to half a pound down from the weight I was that day I went to the dentist. September was supposed to be the ‘getting back on it’ month – the partying was over and real life (and wedding planning) were back. Plus there was the 10K coming up.
Ah. I didn’t mention the 10K, did I? After running one in mid-July, I got all excited about running again and persuaded the Boy that we should enter another, on September 12th. It was 8 weeks away, plenty of time to train!
Or, as it turns out, plenty of time to, er, not run for seven weeks. I had been doing plenty of other exercise (just not quite enough to do more than hold steady against August’s excesses) but was still feeling pretty apprehensive.
Anyway, I digress. September. Back on it. Nose to the grindstone. Etc.
Yeah, not so much. Lose, gain, lose, same, same. Net loss for five weeks – 1lb. Net loss since P-day – 1.5lb.
Gah.
I’m getting pretty damn frustrated. This week I did everything right - ate my points, exercised five days out of seven - and was really expecting to lose. When I got on the scales and saw 10 stone 5 again, I’m afraid I cried.
At a WeightWatchers meeting.
In public.
Crap.
My Leader, possibly in an attempt to get me to stop bloody crying, decided that the solution is to ‘take the pressure off’. She’s moved my goal weight to 10 stone 4, the very highest it can be (and, by my maths, actually just outside the healthy BMI range, but never mind). I have mixed feelings about this. I originally set my goal at 9 stone 7 because I wanted getting there to be a genuine achievement, and for it to be a weight where I would be happy. If I got to 9 stone 9 or so and felt that I needed to lose more than another couple of pounds, I would have dropped it. As it is, getting to Goal will be a bit of an anticlimax, because I know that 10.4 will not be a happy weight for me. I have a very small frame and should probably be nearer nine stone than ten, but won’t know until I get there. All I know is that I am not comfortable with the amount of excess flab I am currently toting around.
On the other hand, Goal = free meetings = £20 per month to spend on something else, and there is no reason why I can’t keep losing weight.
So, my resolutions for this week:
- Exercise every day. I aim to do some kind of workout every day in October, and have bought the 30-Day Shred DVD to facilitate this.
- Track properly and fully (ie without strange cryptic notes), so that if I get on the scales next week and it’s all gone wrong again I have something I can show my Leader and discuss.
- Not go nuts on Saturday, when we are going to a wedding fair (free samples) or Sunday, when we have a tasting booked with our caterer (free whole meals).
- Drink 2l of water a day.
I am also aiming to blog at least once a week, on Wednesdays. There may also be other posts on an ad-hoc basis, but I need a minimum structure to work to.
I hope you all have good, successful weeks.
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