Shrinkage

"Blimey..."
I got dressed in what might be considered Proper Clothes this morning for the first time in weeks, for the London übercommute. The shirt and sweater combo that had looked rather good when I bought it had a distinct "older bloke" bulge. I padded into the bedroom to kiss d goodbye for the day.
"Blimey," she said. "That sweater's shrunk a bit..."
"Noooo it hasn't," I said, looking at the bulge in the mirror.
"Maybe we should wait a while before we make another pot of frozen yoghurt, eh?"
"Yeah, maybe," I agreed.

The truth is, of course, that clothes you buy to fit you when you're 15 stone look a bit like a sack of kittens straining to escape when you're 16 stone. It also occurs to mew that I'm at the point of an image-bounce...while so far, people have been able to compare to the "old me" - the 20 stone me - and go "Oooh, ahhh...look how much thinner you're looking..."
It's now been four months since I was at my lightest...and that was about a stone and a half lighter than I am right now. So people who last saw me back then can now look at me and suck their teeth and go "Blimey...looking a bit fatter aren't you?" not the least of these people of course is me.

It's interesting to me that this was originally supposed to be a one-year experiment. In some ways, it's tempting to say that that's exactly what it turned out to be - a successful one-year programme, followed by, to date, four months of failure, backsliding, misery, whining and weight-gain. The temptation to simply throw my hands in the air, give up, stomp off and have a sundae is huge. I wish I could say the image in the mirror was enough to jolt me in the ass and get me losing again...but it isn't. Not today anyway. I want to lose, still. I want to get down and down and down...I just don't feel strong enough to push it that way today.

Meh. In London today anyway, stuck in committees, so there's buggerall I could do today. Let's see what happens tomorrow - might wake up with a brand new master plan...