A bus driver and a swimming teacher

Reader, I bought the jacket.

It’s beautiful. It could go with a shirt and tie and look all respectable but it could also go with a casual stripy top and look all fabulous. I couldn’t afford it, but I’m delighted I bought it. I don’t really wear jackets in the summer, in fact I’m writing this while sitting topless next to an open window and it’s only fifteen degrees, you can only imagine what I’m like when it’s actually hot. And in spite of my hotbloodedness, I wore the jacket for most of today.

At one stage today, I had my fabulous new hipster glasses, my fantabulous new headphones and my amazing new jacket on at once. It was like I’d been swallowed by an ocean of awesome.

And when I was getting off the bus tonight, the driver TOTALLY checked me out. Now, he might have been checking out my attitude-filled headphones or my stunning new jacket, but I don’t care – he had me in his crosshairs and was clearly impressed by what he saw.

I rock.

Note, I realise that it’s a sad reflection on my age that I’m delighted with a bus driver checking me out. But I would like the record to show that 1. he was a young bus driver and 2. I am that desperate.

Today, my news is much like it was about six months ago.

I re-joined WeightWatchers. I’m going to try my hardest, but I’m also going to try hard not to make it a test of my worth. I will measure my worth by how fabulous I feel inside, and by how much I put  my Gok plan into action.

Anyway, I’m going to a new city-centre, lunchtime WeightWatchers group. They’re lovely, a little bit posh, a gang of girls, most of whom (I’m guessing) have a degree in Commerce and French and spent a year in Australia before coming back just in time to get on the corporate ladder just before the credit crunch hit. Now, all of this is speculation, but I’d be willing to bet I’m at least kind of right for most of them.

I hopped on the scales, and what I already knew was confirmed. I’m heavier than I’ve ever before been, but my worst fears were not realised. I was sure I’d be over 25 stone. I wasn’t. I weigh 24 stone 9.5 pounds, or 345.5 pounds, or 156.7 kilos. I have high hopes of success.

As long as I’m weighing in weekly, I’ll start measuring regularly too. My neck is 17.75 inches or 44.8 cm, my chest is 54.25 inches or138 cm, my arm is 16.75 inches or 42.8 cm, my waist is 58.75 inches or 148.8 cm and my thigh is 27.5 inches or 70.9 cm.

I also went swimming tonight. It’s my fourth time going back to swimming in the last week, but it was my first time coming across my old nemesis, the backstroke (or upside-down backwards swimming, as I like to think of it). I was delighted when I managed to float on my back for a whole 3 seconds (trust me, that’s an achievement) but my teacher wasn’t. He told me that my problem was that I wasn’t confident, which is true, but not particularly useful.

At least I could understand him. The two girls next to me, a pair of giggly overweight sisters who have apparently been coming to lessons for six months and are still holding onto their floats, couldn’t understand a word he said. You see, they are from Dublin, and he is from Poland, and even though his English is very good, they look at him completely bemused by every word that comes out of his mouth, as if he were talking in a secret swimming language. They prefer the lessons on the evenings when Gerry is on.

They laughed at my swearing in my attempts to float on my back. I had been left with them at the end of the pool, while the teacher went with the other “beginner” students, all of whom were backstroking effortlessly around. One of the girls told me she wasn’t even going to try, she knew she couldn’t do it, and it was funnier to watch me try anyway. I tried to take this as a compliment as I tried over and over, for twenty-five minutes, to float on my back without holding onto the side of the pool. I’m proud that I kept trying. And I’m doubly proud that I kept trying while a girl screeched with laughter as my hairy man-boobs bobbed up and down in the water.

I’ll get there soon and, as always after swimming, I left the pool with a little glow of self satisfaction.

On my way home, a bus driver checked me out and then when I got home, I got onto the internet and started chatting to a guy on Gaydar. He turned out to be in Galway, but it’s still progress. And I’m a whore for a bit of progress.

Good night all!

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One Response to A bus driver and a swimming teacher

  1. Rachael says:

    Would it be terribly American of me to gush at your progress as well? Good on you!

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