I've got the mind of a hare and the body of a tortoise.
Today, two of my colleagues told me that I look thinner and wanted to know how much weight I've lost. Yesterday another colleague said I'm noticeably a different shape. This is interesting because the scales don't seem to have budged much for a couple of months and I'm a bit twitchy about it.
The twitch is because I've made an appointment with my doctor for next week, and if she's not happy with my progress, boy am I in trouble. So let's say I am sparking away like billyo this week (though I haven't got to the gym yet owing to reluctance to clean horse bun from trainers) and am on my third consecutive pretty dam good day.
Something's deffo going on though. Any difference is likely to be because of all the exercise, of course. I think that IS changing my shape. Either that or my garments are hanging out in the wardrobe, giggling and stretching each other on the quiet so that they are bigger than they should be and get an early retirement.
So today I sneaked into Marks and Spencer and tried on a few things. First discovery, I'm definitely a Marks and Spencer size 20, where this time last year I was a 24. This is v v good as Bridget Jones would put it though if I weighed what she did I would think all my troubles were over. Second discovery, I'm not an 18 yet, definitely not. I tried on a size 18 jumper and it was ahem revealing. Of every bulge. And I've got plenty to choose from.
Ah well. Size 18 by Christmas is one of my goals, so that means losing 12 pounds in er er er about 11 weeks. Doable by most people's standards, but my standards are lower than most. We'll see.
It was wishful thinking, trying on that size 18 and the thing was I could get into it, it was just too tight. If I were thinner I would wear clothes that tight but I'm not so I won't.
It's not just food I'm hungry for. In fact increasingly I want other things more than I want food. In the same way that I want to wear smaller sizes than I can, I want to go more extreme exercise. Whenever I walk 6 or 7 or 8 miles, there'll be a runner, zipping past me going further or faster than I can. I want to be that runner.
Just off to excavate the trainers from their layer of mud. Gym tomorrow, though no gym today.