If the dress fits . . . a diary of relapse, denial and intimidating wedding guests.
Literally a week ago, I looked at my profile in the mirror and thought "hmmm...looking pretty good". My tummy seemed flatter and all was right with the world. I even said to my sweet, patient, adorable boyfriend, "do you know, I think I've lost weight around my stomach!", which he, loyally, agreed with. Then, three things happened.
One: In a valiant, but ultimately ill-fated, attempt to sculpt my body into a slightly less wobbly version of itself, I got the boyfriend to erect the exercise bike in the conservatory so that I could enjoy the view of the rolling hills to the rear of our house, while I was pedalling away for the self-allotted ten minutes per day. Full of gusto, I leapt out of bed 15 minutes earlier than usual the next morning and bounded downstairs, leaping onto the bike like an over-enthusiastic labrador. Ten minutes! That was all, just ten minutes of exercise, then I could begin my day full of pride at what had been a successful first step on the ladder to fitness, slimness and awesomeness. I lasted three minutes. Three minutes, during which I very nearly passed out and fell off the bike.
Two: I ordered some pretty new dresses! Size 14? Why yes, I've been a size 14 for over a year now, having worked my way down from, what I hope was my zenith, at size 20, so why on earth would I stop to consider buying any other size? Sure, I'd hoped to get down to a size 12 at some unspecified point in the future, but 14 was fine. Ok, so I still had post-cycling-related trauma and hadn't been near the bloody thing since that ill-fated attempt, but my tummy was fine! Right?! Er, no, wrong. All three dresses were snug, to say the least. I decided to model the 'loosest' of the three for my boyfriend who - never one to be hurtful or cruel - said, with a frown on his face as he eyed my bulging tummy area, "is that a size 14"?
Three: A work colleague asked me if I was pregnant. Need I say more? So much for the flat tummy.
So, with a wedding to attend in June (at which will be not only the boyfriend's ex-wife but also a psychotic, bunny-boiling ex-girlfriend), I need to get my arse into shape - literally. Slimming World worked for me in the past and so I'm relying on its limitless starchy goodness to see me through again. I want to lose over three stone in total but as long as I can squeeze my arse - and flabby stomach - into at least one of those dresses by June 14th, I'll be happy.
My first meeting at my new group is tomorrow evening and I'm genuinely looking forward to getting stuck in! The plan is to keep this diary running as long as I'm en route to my goal, in the hope that it might help/amuse/instruct any who might care to read my entries, but also as a means of keeping myself on course. However, there is always the chance that I'll see something shiny and go chasing after it instead, forgetting all about the diet, the wedding, the diary . . . who knows. I can only try. I'll check in tomorrow after my group. Thanks for reading!