18 stone, 13.75 pounds.
That's the tiniest, barest smidgen of a fart over the line, but goddammit, it's over it. So, both of the landmarks I mentioned not hitting last week...I've hit this week. Firstly, at the point of hitting 19 stone and half a pound, I crossed the 'stone and a half' rubicon, joining the likes of my mate Tig, who's been president of the stone-and-a-half club for a week or more. And less actually-significantly, but more symbolic-significantly, I've finally changed my stone-number a second time, so I'm in the realms of the 18ers...
It occurs to me that with so many people on so many diets, hitting the stone-and-a-half marker does not constitute a unique selling point for me wittering along here, being all dramatic and histrionic and (dramatic voice) 'The Disappearing Man'. It's when we come to the point of having lost three stone, four stone, six stone that this whole experiment will start to come into its own. Till then, it's kind of just 'fat bloke loses weight, bitches quite a lot, has occasional giggle' really, innit?
But hey, today's a good and giggly day. Am off to drape myself in bunting once again (it's becoming something of a fetish, if I'm honest, but that's another story) and dance around the streets going "Look at me! I'm a slightly thinner fat-fuck than I was a couple of months ago!!"...to the complete mystification of people who still just see a fat fuck. Might hand out random cucumbers, just because.
Blood was 5.2 this morning, by the way.
No comments:
Post a Comment