Nope…still won’t go away, this feeling of being the
love-baby of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow and the Michelin Man.
Although today, most of the day, I’ve felt OK, it’s probably
noticeable that I’ve been in generally baggy, reasonably new (ie bought during
the climb back up) clothes. Just had to do up my newish winter coat on Cardiff
Central train station, and that was something of a revelation – caught
something of a reflection in the screen and I look like a badly-made Bratwurst.
Still, by all accounts, Ma is keen to get back to early
morning walking, possibly tomorrow, and so I should be able to add a new
element into my routine ahead of Thursday, and hopefully at least not increase in size and weight on last
week. One week of increase is sort of forgiveable. Two and it starts to look
like you’ve lost it again. There’s also the danger of complacency, resulting
from comparison to recent heaviness. The sensation that “as long as it’s still
in the 17s, it’s fine” because it’s not as bad as when I looked in January and
saw 18 stone again. This kind of thinking must of course be fought. Effort must
be made. Work must be…you get the gist?
Excuse me now – I have some important freezing to death to
do…Thank you First Great Western rail for never
being on time, meaning I miss my connection every goddamn week…
Sigh…
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