Tuesday, 5 April 2016

THE ONE WHERE I THANK THE HUMBLE BATHROOM SCALE . . .


I weighed myself yesterday.

I know, I know . . . the scale is the "sad step" and you shouldn't go by what it says or let it control your life and I agree most of the time, yes.

BUT . . . when you haven't had a working scale for six months plus and have spent waayyy too much time and money consuming Dominos pizza and imbibing Chenin Blanc, while not doing all that much exercise (okay, no exercise at all apart from a once-a-week pole fitness class and the occasional walk around the supermarket on the three days a week you feign healthiness), it's easy for the pounds to creep on and for you to stay in denial about it. (Holy crap, that was a long sentence!)

It is so easy to stay in denial if you don't see the figures for yourself.

And pizza is just so delicious. And wine.

And chips and cheese.

And the garlic bread with cheese you sneakily add on as a side to the healthy pasta dish you've made on one of your "better" days. 

Or the chocolate bar you have for breakfast out the vending machine at work because you forgot to make your overnight oats or crustless quiche. Every day for a week.

(I'm exaggerating

And you think about the idea of doing exercise about hundred times more than you actually do it. Because you've had a shit day and all you want to do is go home and sit around in your pjs watching Impractical Jokers on repeat until you can shake off the remains of the day. And isn't laughing a lot a great workout for the core? (I must have abs of steel buried under there somewhere, for sure.)

So anyway . . . I stood on the scale yesterday. And that was it. It was like that part in the film Mulholland Drive where the mysterious box gets opened and everything suddenly changes. Except slightly less dramatic.

Because I'd put on a stone since the last time I'd weighed myself. More than a stone. And I wasn't at my target weight, or anywhere near it, in the first place. I am the heaviest I have ever been.

So now I am on a mission.

To eat as healthy as I can. To cook from scratch whenever possible. To not have a bad day and then just keep tacking on more bad days, so that before I know it I've been gorging on takeaways for close to a week (it doesn't happen a lot - thank goodness - but it does happen). To not deny myself anything, but try to moderate the things that I know are bad for me. (For example, you would never see me giving up cheese . . . but I will try to eat less of it).

Oh, and actually get off my butt and do some fecking exercise.

Let me dust off my non-existent willpower and see if I can actually make a difference.

I might not necessarily have a body I feel confident showing off by the time I (hopefully) go on holiday next month . . . but if I could even just start to fit back into some of my old clothes by next month it would be a victory in itself. It would be like having a whole new wardrobe!

So, thank you, scales . . . for once, you've actually been the wake-up call I needed!

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