On Thursday I celebrated my third year of not being such a fat bastard anymore! I weighed in at Slimming World for the final time (never say never) and I weighed 12 stone exactly. So that’s exactly nine stone off in three years. Which is great, but I was three pounds lighter the last time I weighed in…. So what happened? Life happened! I went to see New Kids on the Block/Backstreet Boys and I took out eating and drinking like a gypsy in an airport. You see, I’m not one of these people who can have just one biscuit, or eat half a bar of chocolate and save the rest for later, I must eat ALL THE PIES. Which is great at the time, but leads to severe guilt pangs afterwards. I realise that I need to get a bit of perspective, but I’m hardly the most rational person in the world. So what? I know now that spending a weekend of eating whatever I want will inevitably result in maybe a seven pounds increase on the scales (easily), but give it a week or ten days of eating properly and following the Slimming World plan – that gain is gone. Doesn’t stop me panicking though! I am constantly afraid of gaining a substantial amount of weight, and meeting people in the street who immediately run to tell their mates ‘McCooeys putting that weight back on again – her gastric band must have slipped’. Haters be hating.
Anyway, in true form I have spent all weekend celebrating my third birthday by eating whatever the hell I want since Thursday. I now feel quite out of sorts, and I know tomorrow it’ll feel like I’m coming off crack – that’s a tale that requires another post, later – but it was damn good. And tomorrow begins the marathon training for reals, so hopefully the inevitable gain will fade away a little faster than normal.