What a lovely weekend! Well, I know it peed down with rain for most of it, but it was still a good one. On Saturday morning I dragged my aching bones to the gym … I knew I had to do it as I was facing a weekend of indulgence, and I needed to stretch out my poor old leg muscles. Feeling quite virtuous for spending a Saturday morning somewhere other than under the duvet, we then went off to a festival organised by a friend of mine. It’s not quite on the same scale as Glastonbury, but the effect of being in a muddy field in Surrey in wellies was pretty similar. There were people there that I’ve known since school, some of whom I’ve not seen for years and years. As ever, I took most of them by surprise. I was told by at least three people that they didn’t recognise me (the very fetching hooded cagoule I was wearing may have had something to do with it, mind you) and was repeatedly told ‘you look well’. Is ‘you look well’ the polite way of telling someone they’re not fat any more? Only my closer friends, or those that knew about the diet, commented on the weight loss outright. It’s funny, I’d never realised before just how sensitive people are about referring to other people’s weight … it might be seen as gauche to tell someone they’ve piled on the pounds, but is it bad to tell them when they’ve shifted them?
The festival involved lots of drinking and barbecued food. I stuck to wine (red, this time) and steered clear of Old Sheep Dip or whatever weird ales and ciders were on offer. I was pretty restrained on the barbecue front, too, and managed not to chomp my way steadily through the afternoon. This all went slightly to pot on Sunday when I had to meet a succession of people for breakfast, lunch, drinks and dinner. There’s only so much salad a girl can take, I can tell you! To be honest, I think I did pretty well in the face of some quite serious temptation. Well, the scales will tell on Thursday.
I was out of bed at the ungodly hour of 6am today to meet my trainer in the gym at 7. This session wasn’t as cripplingly difficult as the last one, despite some intensive bursts of activity on the rowing machine and the bike. I did actually fear I might be sick at one point, but my pride prevented me from spilling the evidence of an indulgent Sunday on the laminate floor. I had more comedy moments trying to lift weights. My arms, particularly my left one, are pathetically weak. It’s a wonder that I can lift a handbag, frankly. But I have to stick at this. I’m never going to be a dainty little thing, so the sooner I can turn this chunky physique into a more athletic one the better. I just wish that exercise came in pill form, that’s all 🙂
I need to be careful this week. The exercise means that my body is demanding more calories and I’m wary of lapsing back into a carb-heavy diet. Because I’m approaching the end of management now, and will soon be going it alone, I need to get to a happy place between dieting (as such) and a normal routine. As I’ve said before, I still want to lose some weight, and I’m giving myself a deadline of Christmas by which to do so. I think that’s achievable, but I need to be strong. It’s harder to exercise willpower in the world of food than it was during abstinence, and I’m permanently conscious of that fact.
I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever be able to stop thinking about my weight. Sadly, I think I already know the answer to that question …