29 To Go

Today's weigh-in revealed that I'm now:
16 stone 4.5 pounds.
That's a loss of 1 pound.

One lousy, stinking, evil, insignificant little pound. All the walking, all the biking, the return to the gym and the degree of self-denial...a pound.

I was quite disheartened when I first found out about that. It's a dangerous time, when you make only slight progress - far more dangerous than when you make no progress at all, or put on, even. It makes you feel like having a calorific tantrum, and I actively considered going for chips at lunchtime.

But then, if you think about it - a pound is, by definition, four quarter-pounders. As d mentioned when I told her what I'd lost, it's a pretty juicy bit of steak. You'd know about it if you were hit in the face with a pound of gold, and you'd have a hell of a weekend with a pound of blow.

Older people, like me, are always telling youngsters how important it is they learn the value of a pound. And OK, over here in the UK, we're talking about money (which in itself is fairly ludicrous, cos you can't get anything worth getting for a pound these days, despite the flourishing of "Pound Stores", but I digress). So perhaps today's a day for remembering the value of a pound. At least, I suppose, it's a pound I don't have to lose again, unless of course I succumb to petulance and blow it.

And I also guess, in my quest to beat my pal Eve to lose 30 pounds, I'm one pound closer to the finishing line. One down...29 to go...