Musing on Weight
When I moved in with mum, it was her staggering weight loss that was the most scarey. She’d always ‘watched her weight”, so she was generally a 10, if she starting moving to a 12, she went on a diet. I dread to think what size she’d dropped to, but I knew she was not healthy. So ... I cooked everything I could saturate with calories. I quickly picked up that as soon as I stopped eating, so did she. Unfortunately, it took me a lot longer to figure that I didn’t need to have anything on my fork, I just needed to keep making the action of fork to mouth, to keep her eating
I’d guess I probably put in around three stone in two years. I stopped adding the pounds when I figured out the empty fork. However, it didn’t come off, as we walked slowly, ambling around town, taking lots of breaks for “tea and cake”, even though I didn’t have the cake.
This last year, I’ve bumbled along, eating less calorie laden meals, but I’ve not been in a hurry to get anywhere and the weight has hung around like a bad smell. If I’m honest, it was something I thought I ought to care about, but didn’t
Then, I started working. Not enough time to get from A to B, always running late (hated that), so stairs rather than waiting for the lift and hey presto ... I lost a few pounds
So, here I am, walking Pooch up and down the hill, to pinch WiFi, to use the washing up area, to do the laundry, to use ...., you get the drift. We don’t amble, we power up the hill.
Pooch has just moved a notch on his collar! I’ve bought smaller jeans! Well, I was walking out of them! I managed to get on a set of scales at my brothers and I’ve lost a staggering two stone in two months!
I think I’m feeling better about myself, but mostly I’m starting to feel a bit of control over where my life is going