It’s been a while since I posted. Under normal circumstances, I would have given the whole thing up by now. It would be a truism to state that I’ve quit every diet I’ve ever been on, and that every time I’ve given up smoking, I’ve ended up back on the fags, so I won’t say either. I have had long-term diets before, and I’ve been off cigarettes for 5 months three times. But generally my get-healthy attempts are short-lived. The difference now is this blog. I don’t really know how many people are reading it, but I know that some people are and I know it’s out there. My commitments are writ large on this world wide web and I can’t back down. Even though I’m cursing myself for doing this, I think it might just be one of the most worthwhile things I have ever done.
I have been fooling myself to an extent this week: hiding my eating and smoking from others and from myself. In fact, I’ve barely eaten or smoked anything anywhere other than the car. I suppose it is its transitory nature that makes me feel I’m not really doing something if I’m doing it in the car.
But fooling myself has got to stop now. A friend of mine, let’s call her Boadicea, asked me why I’m trying to diet and give up smoking at the same time. She thought I was making things too difficult for myself. The truth is I have to. I’m in my lovely new cottage. It was manky dirty when I moved in and it took a big job to make it shine. The first room I cleaned on Staurday was the bathroom. I was so tired after cleaning just the small bathroom that I had to lie down. For two hours. That isn’t normal for a 29-year-old. That’s my reason. There are lots of other motivations. Two that are looming large are money (I can’t really afford this cottage if I continue to spend money on cigarettes and crap food); and new beginnings – I’ll be working in Slovenia for the summer (should I take my fancy new weighing scales?) and I’ll be starting a PhD in Trinity in September; and I’d love to make a good impression in both. I realise that there was an excess of punctuation in the last sentence – forgive me please.
Anyway, it’s time to weigh. I’m genuinely nervous about this after the week I’ve had. I haven’t weighed myself since last Sunday and I have a bad feeling about this. Here goes:
(runs back to computer from scales) It’s bad, but unsurprising news:
Weight: 22 st 10.25 lbs (318.25 lbs/ 144.5 kg)
That’s a gain of a pound and a quarter. Or (and this does sound better) three quarters of a kilo.
Body fat: 9 st 7 lbs or 41.8% of my body.
This result is a warning to me. A bit of honesty is necessary. Next week, I’ll be like little George Washington, cutting down cherry trees left, right and centre – and fessing up. This week “Yerra, I’ll get away with it” is not an option.
As ever, wish me luck. And, by the way, the bucket was black.