The last weigh in before Turkey, this is it, this is what I will weigh when I hit fifty. As I stood in front of the scales this morning it felt like a scary thought. Fifty was a scary enough thought all on its own. Back at the beginning of last year I’d half promised myself I wouldn’t be fat and fifty. Back then I wasn’t sure if I believed it was possible. How many times had I tried and failed? At some point between then and now I began to believe it might just happen.
If I define fat by the number the BMI charts tell me I need to be then I knew I’d failed before I even stepped on the scales unless by some miracle I’d lost over a stone in the last week. Failure is relative though. I’ve come far further than I ever dreamed possible. This morning I found out how far. Anyhow, cut to the chase, eventually I screwed up the courage to actually step on the scales. Despite the team birthday night out and the early family birthday with cake I’ve lost another two pounds. I’m down to eleven-six, officially in the bottom half of the elevens. No looking back with regret at the gains and there could have beens, I’m patting myself on the back today because I think I deserve it.
To celebrate I filled out my postal vote form for the election that will happen when I’m in Turkey and took it with me on my walk down to the river. I even remembered to post it. Obviously not all the grey cells have departed just yet. All in all I’d call that a good day.