This is where we begin another year of Disappearing. The first time, the majority of the positive journey took just a year. The majority of the backsliding took three.
The original was inspired by health concerns. The odd thing is, this time round, it really isn't - no-one's offering me gastric surgery anymore, and I know now I wouldn't take it if they did. Works for lots of people, and good on them for having that courage, commitment and stamina. I need to do this my way.
Nor am I particularly freaked out any more by my heart condition - it gave me episodes at 20 stone, and it gave me episodes at 15 stone. I'm now fairly convinced it's just 'a thing' I need to accommodate, a battle-scar from the bloody business of just being alive - like the metal in my ankle and the gwretched pigging deafness in my right ear (though I'd be lying if I said I'd entirely come to terms with that yet).
Oddly, when I started originally, I was on a lot of diabetic medication, and through the course of the first Disappearing year, I reduced and then cut out an entire pill (from four each day). But equally strangely, when my blood was tested just last Sunday when I had my latest heart escapade, it was pretty much textbook - 7.7. While I'm sure my body wouldn't mind at all if I lost a shitload of weight, I'd be lying if I said I was doing it this time to live longer.
I just need to do it for me.
I need to do lots of things for me, quite frankly. Me, me, me - this year, I've decided, is all about me. I finished draft 1 of a book last year, but draft 2 has been stuck in a queue ever since while I've been busy doing edits for other people. Have put myself under quite a bit of deadine pressure that way, which I'm sure my body wouldn't mind not being under either. I didn't run an editing company four years ago when I did this first, and this year, I'm pretty much going to own as little of one as possible again - I'm farming out more work to my editors, who are all massively capable. I can't exactly go entirely back-seat, but the heart thing has made me question whether I need to be breaking every bone in my back running a company. Clearly not, though I may just possibly need one more editor. We'll see. But this year is going to be about making some necessary changes in my life. Draft 2, edited, and out the door. Book 2, between October-December 31st. But mainly, Disappearing again.
The thing about making a big song and dance when you start something like this is that it quickly wears out its welcome. It's like fanfaring every time someone's supposed to come into the room, if they persistently don't arrive. The more false starts you have, the less inclined you are to blow your horn when you begin, because you're more aware of people going 'Oh aye, that'll be right. I'll be over here if you actually do something.'
I weighed in yesterday at 19st 3 lbs. That means that while the first year of the Disappearing Man saw me lose just about 6 stone from my initial starting weight of 20st 7.5 lbs, over the course of the last four years, I've only actually lost 1st 4lbs (18 lbs to my American friends). That entirely sucks. I feel sluggish, I've begun avoiding my reflection again, and have even begun investing in a stupid waste of time - giving a toss what people think of me. I've never done that in 43 years, I'm fucked if I start doing it now, so that needs to stop, which means I need to dislocate my own sense of nosediving self-esteem.
So here we go. Usual rules apply - no fizzy, no fried, low sugar, low carb, more exercise, more metabolic stimulation. Clearly need to rethink my Starbucks choices and probably visit-frequency too, cos even in terms of skinny, that much milk is probably not ideal.
Let's do some math for a quick refresher. The medically advised safe amount to lose per week is 2 lbs. There are 52 weeks in a year. That makes 104 safe pounds of loss advisable in a year, of the (dashes away to calculator) 231 lbs of me there currently is. In British, that means near as dammit, 7.5 stone, which would take me to 11st 10 lbs. Just around a stone or 14 lbs away from the medically advised ideal weight for someone of my height, 5ft 6 inches (curse you, short parents, why couldn't just one of you have fucked a supermodel?!).
Will this happen? Shouldn't think so - barely scraped a loss of 6 stone the first time round, and now I'm four years older and the flab is harder, fortysomething flab that sort of looks up at you and sniggers every time you play energetic music at it. But something will. If I can lose 6 stone in a year again, I'll be happy. To be honest, if I can come away with a net loss of 5 stone 4 lbs, I'll be chuffed as fuck. So the hard goal is 104 lbs. Soft goal, 74 lbs. Annnnywhere in between the two, happy happy Tony, dancing about the place.
So now you're all sitting there going 'Yeah, OK, but what have you actually done? Y'know, today?'
Well, as with the original Disappearing, I'm starting slow, so as to neither surprise the bejesus out of of the heart and make it panic, nor waste the enthusiasm of starting this again on a quick effort that gets nowhere and then is disappointed.
Walked five revolutions of a local lake this morning - equivalent to 6000 steps, 3 miles or 300 calories. Breakfasted on McDonalds plain porridge - couple of hundred calories. So far, had a bottle of water for lunch, though there's a meat and veg stew with my name on it for lunch proper. Tonight's dinner - pasta, but with portion control. And I'm aiming to do a little exercise biking later today too, to up the calories-burned count.
Yeah, I know, big whoop - it's Day One all over again, whaddaya want from me?
What will be happening is more frequent blog entries here again, because if I just rant at the wall, I'll look like a crazy person, and there are other Disappearers out there who quite enjoyed the ride the first time round. Hopefully tomorrow, I'll begin adding the tedium of blood test numbers daily - because I know you won't sleep at night if you don't have those.
I've restarted the Disappearing Man so often over the last three years it's not even funny to Ricky Gervais. But in the words of Bill Hicks, 'excuse me while I plaster on a fake smile and plough through this shit one more time.' Anyone still up for the ride?
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