As you all know, yesterday was weighing in day for me. Up till yesterday morning, this has been a happy event for me, as I have been confident that enough has been done each day to ensure a small overall reduction every week. I haven't been going mad, as we all know that 'slow and steady wins the race' however much we'd all like to lose half a stone with the wave of a bingo wing.
However, somewhere quiet, probably surrounded by half eaten doughnuts, the Goddess of Love Handles is having a really good laugh at my expense. I almost leapt onto the scales yesterday morning. Having had a preview of my weight the night before, I was convinced that Friday would bring another 2lb weight loss which was brilliant. You can only begin to imagine my dismay when the Friday morning scales revealed that I had put on 2lbs this week. This equated to a 6lbs increase overnight, which I'm not sure is even physically possible even if you were stuffing your face all night.
So it made me question how this could possibly have happened. Had the husband been force feeding me cake while I slept, whispering gently in my ear 'Come on, one more slice of coffee and walnut before we move onto the drizzle....' Did I have two pairs of pyjamas on? Had I left my shoes on?
All these things went through my head as I gazed down at the scales and I felt a right failure. I can honestly say that apart from one sneaky custard cream on Tuesday, I have not strayed from the straight and narrow. I have walked and walked, done Pilates and swum with Mrs S. While everyone around me at home has eaten calorie heavy food, I have been dining in Blandville, with salad and cold chicken my best friends. I even cut down on the bananas for goodness sake...
So what could it be? I'm waiting for someone to take me to one side and reassure me with the old chestnut of 'muscle being heavier than fat', but as I have only been doing my extra exercises for three weeks, I think that the nearest I have got to any muscles is that lovely bowl of Moules Mariniere I had several weeks ago. Mrs S told me on Thursday that she does things slightly differently to me, and measures her success by inches and not pounds. Perhaps this is an option? I shall disappear upstairs with my dressmaking tape measure after I've finished writing, and see if next week brings some more positive results for me.
Mind you, there was one thing which happened yesterday which was optimistic. When heading out to walk the dogs, I put my coat on - a quilted number which normally stretches across my stomach, the zip straining, and the poppers unable to meet. Without really thinking about it, I pulled the zip up and pressed the popper studs together. And they stayed together for the whole walk. So maybe, just maybe, Mrs S is right, and inches are the way forward.
This thought has bolstered my confidence slightly, so onward and upward I go.
Not outward though. That wouldn't be right at all....