OK, headline first - pre-walk, pre-bathroom, the weigh-in was 18st 0.75lbs.
Which of course was irritating, and probably the result of an overestimation of loss as a result of the Carpenter Capsules last week. However, aftera five mile walk, a large de-caff coffee and a bathroom trip, I weighed-in at 17st 13.75.
Shoot me, but for the sake of my own self-esteem, I'm taking the lower reading as gospel. The water loss during the walk I'm couting as more thatn compensated for by the coffee, so the bathroom trip that lost me that all important pound I'm taking as being a real equalising factor.
Either way of course, not good, inasmuch as it's at least a pound UP on last week. But then, to be honest, it's been that sort of week - the exercise has been sporadic and half-hearted as I've been working on my writing, and I've also developed a dangerous taste for granola. Gooooorgeous bloomin' stuff, to be sure, but in the quantities I've been having it, obviously a stupid move.
At one point this week, the unofficial weigh-in was up to 18st 2lbs, so I laid off the granola for a couple of days, and basically settled back to today's result.
"However much I beg and plead," I said to d when I finished the last bag, "don't let me buy more of this stuff. It's clearly Hellfood, disguised as nectar."
"OK," she agreed.
Which means I'm sorry to report that I bought a new bag of the stuff today, and had some for lunch.
(Ker-thunk, ker-thunk, ker-thunk. Bad Tony...Bad Tony...)
May end up wasting the majority of the price of the bag yet, because I can't chomp my way through another bag of that by next week, I'll lose any chance of making headway towards my next goal - 17st 7.
As it is, I'm just barely hanging on to the 17 by the granola-film on my teeth.
Must. Try. Harder. Grr.
Tuesday, 12 August 2014
Tuesday, 5 August 2014
The Carpenters Capsules
Strange week. Been doing quite well for most of it, then the night before last, something stopped working, not in my brain but in my body. This is not a blog known for its delicacy, so I might have to have a run-up at it...hold on...
My bathroom visits became simply Sudoku time? Is that sufficiently vague, while still imparting all you need to know?
All day yesterday, I felt myself weighed down, anchored by an increasing balloon of gut. Smoothing a hand down the front of me (and you know I do that for a ready reckoner), there was a distinct and immoveable bulge.
Ma, as we walked up an interminable set of steps on one of our walks, sniffed.
"Oh, that's started, has it?"
Something had started...or rather stopped, that much I knew.
"You get that from me," she said, seeming less than impressed that some genetic defect should have shown up.
"What?" I said, panting - the stairs went on apparently to the feet of God - "What exactly do I get from you?"
"Spastic -" she said, which I thought was rather mean, frankly. The words Fuck you, you can walk on your own if that's how you feel bounced loosely round my brain.
"- Colon..." she gasped, stopping "to admire the view" of what was essentially a construction site.
"That...sounds like a...horrible...present," I managed to say.
"It is," she agreed, with a degree of feeling that made me wonder oh so briefly how many Sudokus a day she was getting through at the moment.
"I've got something for that," she said. "I'll give you some when we get home."
Thus it was, ladies, gentlemen, readers all, that I passed a truly depressing Rubicon, being handed a small baggy of pharmaceuticals - by my own mother, no less - that promised not to get me high, make me see God or dance all night and gasp at the morning, but merely ensure that my digestive system did what a digestive system is under normal circumstances wont to do.
The moment had a particular resonance, as d and I had, only the night before, watched a documentary on superlative singer but anorexic nightmare, Karen Carpenter, who had gobbled these particular pharmaceutical sweeties down like there was goig to be a shortage, and whose heart had apparently given out largely as a result.
I took mine yesterday at about 4 o'clock in Tesco's cafe.
Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing happened, all night. I ate another meal, wondering all the while what effect it would have on this week's weigh-in. Ma's sage advice, on solemnly hading over her drugs, had been "Under no circumstances go walking in the morning." But when I woke this morning, still, nothing was happening. I woke, I chatted to d, she got ready for her lift to work.
BANG!
Something happened. I don't think you need me to tell you what.
The relief was staggeringly palpable.
I use the word advisedly. I staggered onto the Nazi Scales for this week's weigh-in, feeling rather more confident than I had the night before. I did the smoothing hand thing again, and it was flatter.
The result of all this chemical chicanery? A weigh-in result of:
17st 12.5.
So that's it. We're under the 18 stone marker, finally. I think that calls for a recount, don't you?
At 2lb a week, from here, I should be 16st 10.5 by the day after my tenth wedding anniversary (29th September). 16st 2.5 on my 43rd birthday on 22nd October. 15st 12.5 by Bonfire Night on November 5th. 14st 12.5 by Christmas Eve. And 13st 12.5 by 10th February, 2015.
Under 15st by Christmas? That's a goal worth reaching for. Onwwwwwaaaaaaard!
My bathroom visits became simply Sudoku time? Is that sufficiently vague, while still imparting all you need to know?
All day yesterday, I felt myself weighed down, anchored by an increasing balloon of gut. Smoothing a hand down the front of me (and you know I do that for a ready reckoner), there was a distinct and immoveable bulge.
Ma, as we walked up an interminable set of steps on one of our walks, sniffed.
"Oh, that's started, has it?"
Something had started...or rather stopped, that much I knew.
"You get that from me," she said, seeming less than impressed that some genetic defect should have shown up.
"What?" I said, panting - the stairs went on apparently to the feet of God - "What exactly do I get from you?"
"Spastic -" she said, which I thought was rather mean, frankly. The words Fuck you, you can walk on your own if that's how you feel bounced loosely round my brain.
"- Colon..." she gasped, stopping "to admire the view" of what was essentially a construction site.
"That...sounds like a...horrible...present," I managed to say.
"It is," she agreed, with a degree of feeling that made me wonder oh so briefly how many Sudokus a day she was getting through at the moment.
"I've got something for that," she said. "I'll give you some when we get home."
Thus it was, ladies, gentlemen, readers all, that I passed a truly depressing Rubicon, being handed a small baggy of pharmaceuticals - by my own mother, no less - that promised not to get me high, make me see God or dance all night and gasp at the morning, but merely ensure that my digestive system did what a digestive system is under normal circumstances wont to do.
The moment had a particular resonance, as d and I had, only the night before, watched a documentary on superlative singer but anorexic nightmare, Karen Carpenter, who had gobbled these particular pharmaceutical sweeties down like there was goig to be a shortage, and whose heart had apparently given out largely as a result.
I took mine yesterday at about 4 o'clock in Tesco's cafe.
Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing happened, all night. I ate another meal, wondering all the while what effect it would have on this week's weigh-in. Ma's sage advice, on solemnly hading over her drugs, had been "Under no circumstances go walking in the morning." But when I woke this morning, still, nothing was happening. I woke, I chatted to d, she got ready for her lift to work.
BANG!
Something happened. I don't think you need me to tell you what.
The relief was staggeringly palpable.
I use the word advisedly. I staggered onto the Nazi Scales for this week's weigh-in, feeling rather more confident than I had the night before. I did the smoothing hand thing again, and it was flatter.
The result of all this chemical chicanery? A weigh-in result of:
17st 12.5.
So that's it. We're under the 18 stone marker, finally. I think that calls for a recount, don't you?
At 2lb a week, from here, I should be 16st 10.5 by the day after my tenth wedding anniversary (29th September). 16st 2.5 on my 43rd birthday on 22nd October. 15st 12.5 by Bonfire Night on November 5th. 14st 12.5 by Christmas Eve. And 13st 12.5 by 10th February, 2015.
Under 15st by Christmas? That's a goal worth reaching for. Onwwwwwaaaaaaard!
Saturday, 2 August 2014
The Return of the Gymgrumble
It rained overnight, so I didn't go walking this morning. Not that this comes entirely as a surprise - I haven't walked for the last two mornings either, I've been up against a deadline crunch - this one of my own making. I've launched my new author website - www.fylerwrites.co.uk - and am trying to write, edit and begin trying to sell at least one novel before the end of October.
Anyhow, didn't walk this morning. Did go back to the gym with Ma though. 45 minutes of treadmilling accomplished barely 200 calories of energy-burn. Humph. The rest of the day, I've been in Starbucks and here at home, writing. Yes, actually writing, not editing. Somewhere along the line, I've also walked about 8000 steps, burning another 500 calories. Food...slightly heavier day than normal - breakfast at Carluccios; One slice toast, scrambled egg, portion of fried mushrooms, slice of pannetone. Two large decaffs, then tonight, a relatively new country heard from - Subway. Tried their Tandoori Chicken flatbread last night, went back tonight. Last night's was a 6-inch, and just 300-odd calories. Tonight I went footlong, so presumably 600-odd calories. Pulling the gym nonsense and the walking together, that means I had a calorifically null dinner tonight. Did follow it with a yoghurt and granola - couple of hundred calories - 400 at the outside, I'd say. So all in all, I guess not bad.
The important thing in all this guff is I've gone back to the gym. From Monday, I'll be incorporating the gym into the schedule more and more. It's time to see a 17, dammit. And from there, to push on down to 16. At some point I'm going to have to get some author photos taken, and I'd really like to be a little more facially defined than this before that happens. I know, I know, vanity, vanity, all is vanity.
Back down the Trail in the morning, just for a bit of variety. Six miles should be a good wake-up call.
Anyhow, didn't walk this morning. Did go back to the gym with Ma though. 45 minutes of treadmilling accomplished barely 200 calories of energy-burn. Humph. The rest of the day, I've been in Starbucks and here at home, writing. Yes, actually writing, not editing. Somewhere along the line, I've also walked about 8000 steps, burning another 500 calories. Food...slightly heavier day than normal - breakfast at Carluccios; One slice toast, scrambled egg, portion of fried mushrooms, slice of pannetone. Two large decaffs, then tonight, a relatively new country heard from - Subway. Tried their Tandoori Chicken flatbread last night, went back tonight. Last night's was a 6-inch, and just 300-odd calories. Tonight I went footlong, so presumably 600-odd calories. Pulling the gym nonsense and the walking together, that means I had a calorifically null dinner tonight. Did follow it with a yoghurt and granola - couple of hundred calories - 400 at the outside, I'd say. So all in all, I guess not bad.
The important thing in all this guff is I've gone back to the gym. From Monday, I'll be incorporating the gym into the schedule more and more. It's time to see a 17, dammit. And from there, to push on down to 16. At some point I'm going to have to get some author photos taken, and I'd really like to be a little more facially defined than this before that happens. I know, I know, vanity, vanity, all is vanity.
Back down the Trail in the morning, just for a bit of variety. Six miles should be a good wake-up call.
Wednesday, 30 July 2014
The Nant Ddu Weigh-In Bodyswerve
Eesh. Turning into quite a week this.
Nice thing Monday - Tina and Greg, the gurus who put together my magazine, and who built my Jefferson Franklin website - were in Merthyr for a dog-related excursion (there's a seriously good training kennel in the town), so we all met up for dinner at the Nant Ddu - them, me, d and, perhaps a little oddly, Ma.
Thing is, we had a big meal, going on late at night, so when I got up yesterday morning to walk, I was still carrying an intestine full of gorgeous lamb, sweet potato, pork bonbons etc. Which explains why the Nazi Scales showed me at 18st 4. I told them to fuck off and die, they sneered, I went walking. The issue there was that on my long walk, I drop off Ma on the way back home, and she invited me in for breakfast, so by the time I got finally home, the day's data was corrupt.
So this morning I woke up and did precisely nothing in the way of exercise, as I'm launching my brand spanking new author website in about 30 hours from now, and at the start of the day I didn't really have one. Spent about six hours fannying about with logo designs in between chunks of day job, but now we're finally getting somewhere.
But when I weighed in, officially - yeah, you heard me, today's the official one - I was:
18st 0.75. That means I lost all of three quarters of a pound last week. Disappointing all round but there it is. Perseverence is the key to active Disappearance.
Starbucks day tomorrow, with still so much to do, both in the day job, the Jefferson job (I sort of sneaked a last quickie edit in) and web building, it hardly bears thinking about. But still going walking before the Starbucks day begins.
I mentioned the whole perseverence thing, right? On we go. There...freaking...will be a 17 in my numbers next week, dammit!
Nice thing Monday - Tina and Greg, the gurus who put together my magazine, and who built my Jefferson Franklin website - were in Merthyr for a dog-related excursion (there's a seriously good training kennel in the town), so we all met up for dinner at the Nant Ddu - them, me, d and, perhaps a little oddly, Ma.
Thing is, we had a big meal, going on late at night, so when I got up yesterday morning to walk, I was still carrying an intestine full of gorgeous lamb, sweet potato, pork bonbons etc. Which explains why the Nazi Scales showed me at 18st 4. I told them to fuck off and die, they sneered, I went walking. The issue there was that on my long walk, I drop off Ma on the way back home, and she invited me in for breakfast, so by the time I got finally home, the day's data was corrupt.
So this morning I woke up and did precisely nothing in the way of exercise, as I'm launching my brand spanking new author website in about 30 hours from now, and at the start of the day I didn't really have one. Spent about six hours fannying about with logo designs in between chunks of day job, but now we're finally getting somewhere.
But when I weighed in, officially - yeah, you heard me, today's the official one - I was:
18st 0.75. That means I lost all of three quarters of a pound last week. Disappointing all round but there it is. Perseverence is the key to active Disappearance.
Starbucks day tomorrow, with still so much to do, both in the day job, the Jefferson job (I sort of sneaked a last quickie edit in) and web building, it hardly bears thinking about. But still going walking before the Starbucks day begins.
I mentioned the whole perseverence thing, right? On we go. There...freaking...will be a 17 in my numbers next week, dammit!
Wednesday, 23 July 2014
Walking The Double-Walk
Today was going to be a little bit different to the last two days. Didn't do the long humungo-calorie burning walk this morning, partly cos Ma wanted to walk with me but only had a certain amount of time, and partly because we'd scheduled a grocery delivery, so I too had to be back in the house by a specific time. Nevertheless, between us, Ma and I managed to convolute and complicate a walk up to Costa so that it took five miles, and much of it was either uphill or up-steps. Ended up burning 850 calories according to the Gestapo Phone.
Blasted through the rest of the day, buzz-sawing through some editing, building the bones of my next magazine, dealing with a lot of nitty-gritty stuff and watching half an episode of Blake's 7 - don't judge me, I'm a geek.
When the work day was over, I felt a little restless, so I pulled on some trainers, stuck the iPod on and decided to do the UberWalk in any case. About halfway through though, with the sun roasting me to bacon (round about the Incline Top decision point, as to whether you do the big flat section and the long downhill), I decided I was over besing restless, and turned back for home - just in time to be picked up by d and her pal Lou, driving down the high street of the town.
The results, according to the Gestapo Phone, are that today I've walked 18,481 steps, equating to 11.3 miles, and due to the enormous amount of evil uphill involved, I've burned 1988 calories.
Foodwise - one large decaff skinny latte from Costa, three Weetabix with semi-skimmed, one Pink Lady apple, and dinner - a portion and possibly a quarter of egg fried rice, with stir fried chicken and vegetables.
I'm thinking of having some summer fruits once this blog entry's written, but I have to say, right now I don't need to have that, as I'm pretty stuffed.
My legs are...not exactly pissed with me, but have that particular kind of stretchy ache you get from a really good gym session.
Oh, on which subject:
"You really need to get back to the gym," said d, appropos of practically nothing.
"Do I?"
"Yeah. All that you're doing, it's great, but it's all leg work."
I blinked.
"Am I starting to look like a frog from Biology class or something?"
She peered at me, curiously.
"Not yet," she judged. "But if you keep this up you'll have walnut-cracking thighs and the rest of you'll be floppy."
"Not all the rest of me, thankyouverymuch!"
Did I mention it's our tenth wedding anniversary this year - in September, actually. Nothing brought that home to me more keenly than d's next response. See, back in the young days, a line like that, denying floppiness, would have been accompanied by a mental soundtrack of boom-chaka-wow-wow...and I'd have done some waggling of at the very least my eyebrows, and who knows what would have ensued. Now I delivered it more on a note of indignation. d paused, caught her tongue between her teeth, pushed her glasses up her nose, sniffed and said "Yes, dear," before turning back to her Bubble Witch.
I will be going back to the gym either when I see a 17 in the stones column, or in August, when I take three months off active editing duty to get some writing - and some more Disappearing - done. Till then, I'm happy walking my legs to stubs while the rest of me stays floppy.
Tomorrow - long walk, followed by longish Starbucks day to finish an edit and a bunch of other stuff to boot.
Blasted through the rest of the day, buzz-sawing through some editing, building the bones of my next magazine, dealing with a lot of nitty-gritty stuff and watching half an episode of Blake's 7 - don't judge me, I'm a geek.
When the work day was over, I felt a little restless, so I pulled on some trainers, stuck the iPod on and decided to do the UberWalk in any case. About halfway through though, with the sun roasting me to bacon (round about the Incline Top decision point, as to whether you do the big flat section and the long downhill), I decided I was over besing restless, and turned back for home - just in time to be picked up by d and her pal Lou, driving down the high street of the town.
The results, according to the Gestapo Phone, are that today I've walked 18,481 steps, equating to 11.3 miles, and due to the enormous amount of evil uphill involved, I've burned 1988 calories.
Foodwise - one large decaff skinny latte from Costa, three Weetabix with semi-skimmed, one Pink Lady apple, and dinner - a portion and possibly a quarter of egg fried rice, with stir fried chicken and vegetables.
I'm thinking of having some summer fruits once this blog entry's written, but I have to say, right now I don't need to have that, as I'm pretty stuffed.
My legs are...not exactly pissed with me, but have that particular kind of stretchy ache you get from a really good gym session.
Oh, on which subject:
"You really need to get back to the gym," said d, appropos of practically nothing.
"Do I?"
"Yeah. All that you're doing, it's great, but it's all leg work."
I blinked.
"Am I starting to look like a frog from Biology class or something?"
She peered at me, curiously.
"Not yet," she judged. "But if you keep this up you'll have walnut-cracking thighs and the rest of you'll be floppy."
"Not all the rest of me, thankyouverymuch!"
Did I mention it's our tenth wedding anniversary this year - in September, actually. Nothing brought that home to me more keenly than d's next response. See, back in the young days, a line like that, denying floppiness, would have been accompanied by a mental soundtrack of boom-chaka-wow-wow...and I'd have done some waggling of at the very least my eyebrows, and who knows what would have ensued. Now I delivered it more on a note of indignation. d paused, caught her tongue between her teeth, pushed her glasses up her nose, sniffed and said "Yes, dear," before turning back to her Bubble Witch.
I will be going back to the gym either when I see a 17 in the stones column, or in August, when I take three months off active editing duty to get some writing - and some more Disappearing - done. Till then, I'm happy walking my legs to stubs while the rest of me stays floppy.
Tomorrow - long walk, followed by longish Starbucks day to finish an edit and a bunch of other stuff to boot.
Tuesday, 22 July 2014
The Water-Treader
OK, so not bad news exactly. No news, in fact. Zilcho Newsio.
Today's weigh-in had me at exactly the same as las week's - 18st 1.5.
Frankly, happy enough with that, as I had a week of less exercise than I should have, and quite a few big hefty meals.
Back on track now though - did the long-ass uphill walk again today, with similar results reported on the Gestapo Phone - 8.5 miles, 15000 steps, and about 1500 calories burned. Less food - Muesli for breakfast, two large coffees at Costa, two slices of white toast with scrambled egg and beans for lunch (carb and protein there), and for tonight's dinner, a simple jacket potato with a few more beans (beanfest! Boy am I gonna be popular...)
And on we go into what will undoubtedly be a healthier week. Spoke to Rebecca earlier, who's actually now near her first stone mark. She told me that last time she looked, she'd had that extra-special "big-number-change moment" - where your stone counter drops you into a whole new realm and the motivation fire flares.
On my initial calculations, I expected to feel that this week, but clearly, given my commitment level over the last seven days, that wasn't going to happen. Happy enough to go nowhere, and push on down in the week that's coming. To see a 17 again, as I've mentioned, will be my first real Rubicon - in my mind it's a shift of mode, from Fat Bloke Losing, back into proper Disappearing Territory. The excitement of seeing that 17 will make me hunger hugely to see it change again, to find a 16 in my life, and so on going down.
So here's to seeing a 17 before the end of July. And here's to all my fellow Disappearers, and the joy of a big number change.
Today's weigh-in had me at exactly the same as las week's - 18st 1.5.
Frankly, happy enough with that, as I had a week of less exercise than I should have, and quite a few big hefty meals.
Back on track now though - did the long-ass uphill walk again today, with similar results reported on the Gestapo Phone - 8.5 miles, 15000 steps, and about 1500 calories burned. Less food - Muesli for breakfast, two large coffees at Costa, two slices of white toast with scrambled egg and beans for lunch (carb and protein there), and for tonight's dinner, a simple jacket potato with a few more beans (beanfest! Boy am I gonna be popular...)
And on we go into what will undoubtedly be a healthier week. Spoke to Rebecca earlier, who's actually now near her first stone mark. She told me that last time she looked, she'd had that extra-special "big-number-change moment" - where your stone counter drops you into a whole new realm and the motivation fire flares.
On my initial calculations, I expected to feel that this week, but clearly, given my commitment level over the last seven days, that wasn't going to happen. Happy enough to go nowhere, and push on down in the week that's coming. To see a 17 again, as I've mentioned, will be my first real Rubicon - in my mind it's a shift of mode, from Fat Bloke Losing, back into proper Disappearing Territory. The excitement of seeing that 17 will make me hunger hugely to see it change again, to find a 16 in my life, and so on going down.
So here's to seeing a 17 before the end of July. And here's to all my fellow Disappearers, and the joy of a big number change.
Monday, 21 July 2014
The Road-Bump
OK, so that was a week.
Couldn't honestly tell you much about it, except that I didn't walk or bike anywhere near as regularly as I need to in order to lose my regulation two pounds, and I ate some big meals.
Tuesday we discovered a new (to us) Keralan restaurant called Spice Berry in Caroline Street, Cardiff. Fantastic food, go if you can, but ate my way through two courses with no qualms at all. Yesterday we went to Amroth for the day, and I did a once-a-year thing, having a pizza at the Pirate on Amroth sea-front. In years gone by I'd down a whole one of these, then be looking for dessert. This year I barely made my way through all but the final slice.
Walked this morning for one of the only times this week, and decided to add a frisson to the Trail walk. I reverted to a previous walk that has always seemed like it's probably shorter than the Trail walk, but with far more uphill - up a street called Alma Row, which is to hills what Simon Cowell is to Smarmy bastards, along Thomastown past a pretty park that I've waked around more times than can surely be healthy, up to a thing called Incline Top, which has got to tell you its own story, along a long, flat section called the Goat Mill Road (and as I've asked before, one has to wonder who exactly is milling goats), and then down through Dowlais back to the bottom of the town, where we live.
As I say, think I've measured that before and had it come up as significantly shorter than the six miles of the Trail walk, but this morning, I had the Gestapo Phone on, with its step counter, mileometer and calorie-counter, and it pulled in ridiculous numbers - 14,000 steps, 8.5 miles and 1400 calories burned. The 8.5 miles surely has to be just the phone having a bad reaction to the idea of hills (you live in Wales now pilgrim, suck it up!).
Tomorrow therefore, I'm expecting actively bad news, not just stable news.
"Put it behind you nd go forward" - sage words today from Rebecca, who herself has just passed the half-stone mark, which is pretty freakin' awesome given the insanity of her worldwide schedule.
Behind me is where it shall be put. But that's tomorrow. Am about to get on the bike for an hour before we even get there. That weaty pedalling fool, reading Roman history to himself? That would be me.
Couldn't honestly tell you much about it, except that I didn't walk or bike anywhere near as regularly as I need to in order to lose my regulation two pounds, and I ate some big meals.
Tuesday we discovered a new (to us) Keralan restaurant called Spice Berry in Caroline Street, Cardiff. Fantastic food, go if you can, but ate my way through two courses with no qualms at all. Yesterday we went to Amroth for the day, and I did a once-a-year thing, having a pizza at the Pirate on Amroth sea-front. In years gone by I'd down a whole one of these, then be looking for dessert. This year I barely made my way through all but the final slice.
Walked this morning for one of the only times this week, and decided to add a frisson to the Trail walk. I reverted to a previous walk that has always seemed like it's probably shorter than the Trail walk, but with far more uphill - up a street called Alma Row, which is to hills what Simon Cowell is to Smarmy bastards, along Thomastown past a pretty park that I've waked around more times than can surely be healthy, up to a thing called Incline Top, which has got to tell you its own story, along a long, flat section called the Goat Mill Road (and as I've asked before, one has to wonder who exactly is milling goats), and then down through Dowlais back to the bottom of the town, where we live.
As I say, think I've measured that before and had it come up as significantly shorter than the six miles of the Trail walk, but this morning, I had the Gestapo Phone on, with its step counter, mileometer and calorie-counter, and it pulled in ridiculous numbers - 14,000 steps, 8.5 miles and 1400 calories burned. The 8.5 miles surely has to be just the phone having a bad reaction to the idea of hills (you live in Wales now pilgrim, suck it up!).
Tomorrow therefore, I'm expecting actively bad news, not just stable news.
"Put it behind you nd go forward" - sage words today from Rebecca, who herself has just passed the half-stone mark, which is pretty freakin' awesome given the insanity of her worldwide schedule.
Behind me is where it shall be put. But that's tomorrow. Am about to get on the bike for an hour before we even get there. That weaty pedalling fool, reading Roman history to himself? That would be me.
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