Oh bloody hell, I haven’t lost anything this week. I weigh exactly the same as last week. Yes, I know I lost loads last week, but even so, another week of trying so hard, denying myself at (almost) every turn, walking 11.75 miles and knackering my knees in the process, and nothing to show for it.
That’s how I feel this morning. Pissed off.
Yes, I know I went out on Saturday night for a nice meal (but the portions were small and I made sensible choices), but no I didn’t drive, and yes I did drink. But it was the high point of the week, we had a brilliant night with friends we hadn’t seen for ages (and, if I’m honest, no it wouldn’t have been nearly so much fun if I’d sat there drinking water while the other three were enjoying wine, liqueurs and a trip to the pub afterwards).
Yes, I met a friend for lunch on Monday and the portions were quite large (jacket potato, tuna and salad), and I ate it all. But all I ate in the evening was one small slice of toast with Marmite.
And I walked 11.75 miles. Can’t tell you how sore my knees are – so much so that I’ve had to call my friend A this morning and say that I can’t walk with her today because my knees are too painful. All probably due to being overweight, of course.
I feel so frustrated. I seem totally unable to view losing weight as anything other than a constant struggle, continuous self-denial of nice things, and having to completely curtail my social life. I HATE IT. But I hate being so overweight as well. And it’s so bad for me (look at my bloody knees).
Take the coming week: we’re going away for the weekend from Fri to Sun with my parents and my brother and his family to a lovely hotel near Weymouth. Which will mean plenty of booze (excellent), gourmet three course dinners (yum), cooked breakfasts (delicious) and a pub lunch on Sat (wahey!).
Followed by the scales reading a weight increase that I’ll be massively lucky to pull back by weigh in Thursday, no doubt. And I will have no chance of doing so, bearing in mind the following:
On Wednesday my friend Faye is taking me out for an evening at a cocktail bar in Exeter, which is her birthday present to me. Could I cancel? Looks a bit bloody rude when it’s a birthday present, doesn’t it? And I can hardly go and drink Diet Coke all night, can I?
Oh, and on Thursday I’m meeting my ex sister in law for a catch up over a pub lunch.
The following Saturday’s a local beer festival that a big group of us usually go to.
And so it goes on.
And I ask myself how the f***ing hell am I ever going to lose any significant amount of weight????
And do I want to enough, to deny myself all of the above?
I’m not actually sure that I do. (Other than for health reasons. Which should be a good enough reason in itself.)
Then again, would I rather die a few years earlier having lived a full, happy and exciting life, rather than sitting at home drinking water and eating lettuce while everybody else around me parties and has fun? I sometimes think maybe I would.
(Totally non-edited post. If I re-read it, I’d probably delete it, far too much baring of my soul to the world, I’m sure).