Humph.
I have not been walking as much or as far these last few days as I had last week, and so have created for myself a kind of false plateau by the simple expedient of not dedicating enough time or effort to the bloody-mindedness of Disappearing.
Nevertheless, I was irritated by the Nazi Scales this morning. The last few nights, when I've weighed before going to bed (yes, I'm perfectly aware I shouldn't be doing that, so as to maintain a positive, sunny outlook on my weightloss, but really, you have to ask - do I strike you as Captain Sunshine?), I've been slightly over the 19 stone border, falling back under the border come the morning by more or less the simple process of evaporation it seems.
Last night though - after a fairly hefty meal including sausage (d's secret weapon against the joys of occasional constipation that come with Disappearing and not drinking enough water), and roast potato (Yes, I know - it's best not to ask - if the recent hot chocolate thing hasn't clued you in yet, my walls of division between what I allow myself and what I don't are serious, but frequently entirely illogical) - I weighed 18st 13.75 going to bed, and comforted myself that with the usual couple of pounds of overnight evaporation, plus the weight of the food I could expect to be gone from me before I weighed, I might confidently expect to be 'really' weighing 18st 10 this morning, my stated and intended goal.
Imagine my chagrin then, when morning came and in one of the first genuinely post-bathroom weigh-ins since we began again, I checked in at 18 st 13.
It feels neither right nor entirely fair, but let's not cry about it. Somehow, this week, I've not only not lost anything, I've regained an official pound. More than anything, that's tiresome because it means there's work to do again that was already done, albeit it's just the weight of a substantial pee.
So - on we go, with an occasional glare at the Nazi Scales in passing. A little bit longer, a little bit further to go.
No comments:
Post a Comment