24 Toasters from Scunthorpe

Prizes will be handed out to anyone who gets the reference in today's blog title.  Answers to the usual address.

It's Wednesday.  Just over 24 hours to go and I'll be hopping back on those scales for the first time in three weeks. 

I.  Am.  Terrified.

What if I've thought I've been doing the right things for the last week or two and actually I haven't and I've put a couple of stone on?  Actually, is that biologically possible?  Even if it isn't I bet I probably still would!!

When you do something unpleasant on a regular basis, the pleasantness doesn't improve, because it's always a horrible thing to do, but the discomfort does subside a little because you're used to it.  I can't really think of anything nearly as unpleasant to willingly put oneself through aside from going to work every day.  You have to do it because otherwise you starve, it isn't pleasant but you go anyway, and then you usually find it isn't quite so hellish when you get there.  Unless you work for the NHS.  Fabulous institution, Britain's best idea by miles - absolutely terrible employer. 

I'm going off-topic.

My point is, I avoided scales like the plague until January, and then I've subsequently I've hopped on a pair every week for the last 26 weeks or so.  I never liked getting on the scales but it had become a slightly less scary prospect.  After 20 days away from the scales, half of which were spent mostly in blissful varying stages of inebriation - I have roughly the same desire to get back on the scales as a Death Row convict has when offered a seat a large chair near an electric switch.

But it's one of those things, isn't it?  I've got to do it otherwise I'll just slip back into the old routine, and I really don't want that.  I've come much too far now.  Or at least I think I have.  Who knows. 

What if the worst happens?  What if I do get on the scales tomorrow and even though I've reined it back in SO much over the last ten days I've still put weight on?  Am I going to give up?  Go back to how things used to be?  Think "I'll never get there" and cry for an hour?  Probably.  But then after I've cried for an hour I'll have a stern talk to myself, stop being weak and pathetic and get the hell back on it again.  Marathon.  Not a sprint.  I will get there.  Whether that happens this year or next year.  I gave myself 18 months to do this, and on June 3rd 2013 I will look completely different to how I looked on January 1st 2012.  I will.  I'll even post pictures to prove it.

Maybe!

Join me on Friday.  I will have got back on the scales and I'll know exactly what I'm working with.  The llamas are going to have a fiesta anyway because it's the Olympics and Ricardo has decided to try and campaign for 'fiesta-ing' to be an Olympic sport.  He's even designed Team GB's legwarmers for the Rio Olympics...

Swimmin' with the Wimmin'

So, the Olympics has started in London and everyone's mind is turning to all things sporty. 

Mine isn't.  Even though I've watched a lot of gymnastics (and fencing, swimming and... actually that's it, so far).  If I could back-flip, I have a feeling that I would never walk again.  A normal trip to the corner shop for a pint of milk would be a very different experience.  Or if I'd gone on a dead long walk and my legs got tired, I'd just walk on my hands instead.  I'd be triple somersaulting all over the flippin' (ha! see what I did there?!) place.  It must be nice to be a natural athlete.

The E Word keeps rearing its ugly head and I keep on avoiding it like the plague.  Due to my lack of car I do walk nearly everywhere - at least two miles a day, but I'm really starting to get the feeling that I have to do more.  I have arms that need unwobbling.  I have curves that need to look more curvy and less lumpy.  I have core muscles that need... er... coring. 

I'm bored already.  Exercise is for people without the capability to watch sport on television, surely?

I blame the plethora of exercise that's going on in the country right now.  Us sedentary chaps and chapesses are being made to feel guilty.  Look.  Some of us - like Bruce Springsteen - were born to run.  Some of us were born to get public transport instead - like me.

I keep being advised to take up swimming, but I feel this is the last thing I ought to do. For a start it will unquestionably involve, at some stage, the concept of me in a swimming costume. There is probably no sight more repugnant to the human race. Even the thought of it makes my blood run cold. Nobody needs to see that!  Eeesh!!!  The other problem with swimming is that I can't swim.  Which really is a problem that far exceeds any self-hate issues I happen to have running in conjunction with my lack of ability.  Besides, I'd end up with shoulders the size of a small child.  I don't need another hang-up about my physical appearance, thank you - I already have enough for two lifetimes!!

There'll be an activity out there that has my name on it.  Something that doesn't involve going outside, is a well known source of aerobic exercise and is utterly enjoyable and with purpose.  I know what you're all thinking.  And you're right.  I should really start dancing round the living room!  (What?!  What were you thinking?!)

I've been very good this weekend.  I've eaten a lot but it's all been the right sort of stuff.  I've also done a ton of decorating and loads more walking than usual.  That ought to do something for certain muscle groups.  Dunno what, like, but it ought to - I'm knackered.  It should at least improve my karate.  I've seen the Karate Kid (I'm referring to the real one and not the abysmal remake that Jackie Chan basically spent the whole film looking apologetic for.  And this is from the man who made Shanghai Knights!), I know how it works.  I bet I'm an expert now - I could take on ALL the Cobra Kai team and batter 'em!!  Just try coming at me!  Try it!! 

Actually - don't.  I'll most likely scream hysterically, fall to the floor and assume the foetal position.

I don't know what to think about the weight-loss thing at the moment, though.  It seems to me, whenever I think "Oooh, I dunno, I feel a bit podgier this week, I'm sure I've put on!  And how about that extra cup of coffee with milk I had on Tuesday morning?!" it turns out that I lose something ridiculous like 4lbs or so.  But when I've been mega-good and Synned like a nun at Lourdes, and thought to myself, "I've been dead good, I must've lost something this week!  I even feel thinner!" I end up either only losing half a pound or putting a bit of weight on or staying the same.  All I'm doing is following the plan exactly as I did on my first week back in January.  At the moment I'm simply aiming to still be the same weight as I was before my epic week of hedonism.  If I get a better result than that then I shall be chuffed, but I really don't want to get my hopes up.  I mean, I've been very good last week and am determined to be just as good this week, so, who knows.  If I can get as close as I can to my 4 stone mark by next Thursday I shall be more chuffed than the chuff of a chuff's chuff.  And we all know how chuffed they are!

Join me later on in the week for my pre-weigh in nervous breakdown.  It's been two weeks since I last went to Fat Club and I'm sure by Wednesdayish I shall be absolutely terrified about getting back on those there scales...  *wibble*