The Spasmodic Crunches

Unnnnnnnnncleeeeeeeeean! Unnnnnnncleeeeeeean!

Bloke with a lurrrrrrgi! Unnnncleeeeeean!

Yes, you heard me - while of course it's the case that d has had a lurgi in perfect, get-on-with-it quietness and suffered appallingly while demanding dick-all in special privileges, I'm been going Total Sick Bloke for...well, actually since all the coughing and spangle-seeing of that long uphill walk I detailed last time. Sick as a dog. Useless. Sleeping hours of the day away, mostly because consciousness was such a pain in the chest. Spending additional hours in the bath because of the heat and the healing vapoury gloriousness of Olbas bubbles.

Have done precisely bog-all by way of exercise since that walk - first because of deadlines and then because of all this joyful lurgification.

Which means I have no logical way to explain to you how, getting on the Nazi Scales this morning (technically pre-bathroom, for those interested in the ins and outs of the thing, but it didn't seem especially worth waiting for), and saw:

17st 2.

Down...three and a quarter pounds.

All I can tell you is either this flu has a tapewormy element that has yet to be diagnosed, in which case I'm frankly happy to feed the fucker for a while before the nastiness of coaxing it out one way or another, or all the hacking coughs have acted like spasmodic stomach crunches, and I've been getting more of an enforced workout over the last seven weeks than I could possibly imagine, cos damn! Two pounds short of the next milestone, and into the Sixteens. That will be something to do a happy dance about - and happy dances will be altogether more possible than they have been, too. So yay. The lurgi of apparent weightloss has been an utter bastard, but the results are altogether rather more pleasing than the experience. Onward - to the border of Sixteeniness!

Going Buggy

Today has been taken up by a strange combination of circumstances.

Last night - as if sensing the exorcism of bad habits - my body was distinctly unimpressed by me. Nausea, queasiness at the thought of food, all that joy. We went to bed and slept more or less badly, as d was jumping in a cab for 7ish this morning, to head back to Merthyr and organise the second vanload of our possessions to come to our new place, which happens tomorrow. That meant we were up at Neanderthal o'clock, with me grunting potentially unfortunate sentences like 'You want me come?' and d rushing around to give bits of dishware an unnecessary wash before buggering off on what is a surprisingly long journey by public transport.

I had been intending, with the optimism of the newly-begun, to gert up at the same time as her and take my morning walk to Wiseman's Bridge and back. That simply didn't happen, because of course, as I may have mentioned yesterday, it's November, which means it's pretty damn dark at 7-some-odd in the morning, and there are a couple of ankle-wobbling obstacles en route from here to there, none of which would be improved in the slightest by doing it at that damn fool time of day. I retired back to bed with the audiobook of Genesis of the Daleks - because what could be more relaxing than screaming Nazis in tin cans, right?

Woke up twice more but the time that stuck, it was 9.44. And I felt ghastly. Still nauseated, still queasy, with rubber legs, a pounding head and absolutely no energy for anything. One thing I did though was to get my first official weigh-in done.

Our start weight is 20 stone 2lbs - 282 pounds, or 128 kg.
So I'm roughly, give or take a pound here or there, twice the man I ought to be.  Hence the need to Disappear.

Now, without getting unduly indelicate, not half an hour after the weigh-in, my digestive system went into full revolt, and I've not moved from the flat more than a couple of times throughout the rest of the day - each time I tried, I got nauseated, rubber-legged and woozy. The idea of doing my daily walk went by the board early on, as the day turned from bright and blue to bitter and fraught with rain and hail. I went out at lunchtime to a local cafe, to try a bowl of soup. Three spoonfuls, that was as far as I got. The idea of doing some biking more or less made me go to sleep, because it exhausted me even to think about. I went out later in the evening to try and find something to tempt myself with, but the idea of eating any damn thing just made me want to hurl. Eventually, aware that something needed to get into my system, I mixed up two sachets of instant oatmeal, milked it, nuked it and managed to keep it down.

Perversely, round about now, at 11 at night, I feel more or less human for the first time today. The oatmeal is sitting relatively happy in my system, but I'm completely knackered and washed-out from what I'm assuming was one of those annoying 24-hour bugs. So, more or less a write-off day after such optimistic beginnings yesterday. But on the upside, very little has been put into my system to counterbalance the utter lethargy of the day. So, let's think of it as a passing-grade day, and move right along.

Tomorrow, I can't afford to be lying about all day - the vanload of stuff arrives around 9ish, after which moving round our flat will be nigh on impossible, so there'll be work to do of the 'lumping and shifting' variety, as well as - at least potentially - walking and biking to do.

Disappearing Tip #1 - There will be days when you can do nothing. Do not bug out about them, just resolve to get back on track as soon as possible.

DIsappearing Tip #2 - Never underestimate the power of oatmeal.