Lost in France

I’m back to the weight I was six months ago. However physically, I’m anything but the same. I ate my last chocolate before Christmas yesterday (with the reserved exception of my Birthday weekend, which is being planned out of my hands.) There will be the bare minimum of cake, crisps, bad junk or indeed excess sugar from now until December 25th. It’s not Draconian or unrealistic either. It is the only way to remove what I know is fat. I can see it, obvious and taunting in areas of my body that will soon become muscle, just like all those other parts of my body where the same is true.

It is time to truly redefine what I’m capable of becoming.


Ironically I’m becoming more used to protein as time goes on, preferring rice to pastry, brown to white. Yeah, of course I’ll still crave because I’m human, but it is surprisingly simple to just stop and say no. Listening to my body is becoming an exercise in revelation, too: I’m capable of a lot more than’s currently possible if I simply start feeding myself better. It is all, like it or not, a constant exercise in self assessment. If I allow myself to give into the demons, they can and will utterly consume the good work that I’m doing. I realise that maybe, in times past, this is why faith was far more important than it is now to so many people. With someone looking down, judging your every action, it was far easier to be the good person, or not allow ‘temptation’ to sway you from the righteous path. I’m always impressed with those who seem to have everything under control. I’m always wondering where the catch is.

I know my shortcomings only too well. That’s most of my problem.


The majority of the weight needs to shift from my waistline, which is traditionally the last place to ‘move’ through exercise, and so I’m going to start measuring myself in the same spot every week to see how things are progressing. I know what the number is, I’m not looking for a stupid reduction, or a set of stats that are hugely unrealistic. However, what this will do is give a notion of improvement away from actual weight loss, which I know now is completely irrelevant when fat is converting to muscle. I know I won’t go any higher than this ceiling, the question is now how far I can go back to what used to be the last consistent measurement before the kids were born.

My son is 16 on Saturday. This seems the ideal opportunity therefore to get serious with what gets eaten and drunk moving forward.

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