The Weight of the Situation

So I've re-applied for my llama licence.  I had to.  I got a postcard from Miguel (I dunno how he managed it due to the lack of his opposable thumbs, but I didn't like to split hairs with him over it) saying that him and Ricardo are broke and can't find work.  There are too many Llama Dancing Troupes in Bolivia and they aren't considered a novelty act over there any more.  Javier left the troupe (I know, he was everyone's favourite) after an incident with one of the girl llamas in the local theatre and so they're all pretty down on their luck and want to come home as soon as possible.  Ricardo's everyday legwarmers went threadbare about six months ago and he's been wearing his gold sparkle ones for the past three weeks which are starting to look a bit grubby.  There are no local launderettes and Ricardo's nerves are like piano wires due to the fact he has to walk the streets of Bolivia wearing dirty legwarmers.  

It was a very large postcard, that's how he managed to fit so much information on it.

For those of you new to my blog, I'd best explain that I am the proud owner of an invisible and completely imaginary troupe of dancing llamas who put on a fiesta for me every week during 2012 when I was losing weight.  They've had a year off travelling around the world (although they finally settled in Bolivia) and going on adventures but now they're just about ready to come home.  

This morning I weighed myself for the first time in fifteen months.  It's an inaccuracy to say it was 'difficult', because it was actually remarkably easy - I just stood on a pair of scales and tried to think thin thoughts.  The build-up, however, was a little daunting.  Scales and I have never been friends.  They have never said anything nice to me.  Of all the plus sides associated with losing weight, stepping on a pair of scales every week was never something I had missed.  Part of me secretly hoped that I hadn't really put any weight on at all and that someone had just blown me up with a foot-pump in the night when I wasn't looking.  Another part of me worried that I'd put at least eight stone on (112 lbs, for the benefit of my American readers).  But I knew that if I was ever going to get anywhere, then I'd need to take a deep breath and get back on the scales, so as soon as I'd woken up and while I was too tired to talk myself out of it, I weighed myself.

It was pretty much as I'd expected.  I've put every single gram of weight back on - plus one pound for good luck.  So I am more or less exactly where I started (after all, when you weigh the same as an entire rugby league squad, what's an extra pound between friends?!) two years ago.  Which, actually, is a really good thing.  The slate is completely wiped clean.  I can start completely afresh.  I know what mistakes I made last time, I know how quickly the weight came off last time so I won't get as impatient with myself.  I know what to be aware of and I know not to be afraid that losing weight won't ever happen, because I know it will.

I'm back to Square One - but this time I've got one up on myself from last time.  This isn't new ground.  I've got this.  I've done this, I've been here.  And now I know exactly where I'm going...

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