Twelve months ago I had arrived home from three months travelling.
I’d been walking every day. I’d been eating and drinking sensibly. And guess what? As if by magic I had arrived back in the country significantly thinner than when I had left.
I always thought my mid-life weight crisis was an allergy or something hormonal (as Edina might say), but apparently it all has to do with maintaining a healthy life style.
Other people have difficulties with weight for a range of complex reasons, but for me, apparently it’s because I’m a lazy sod.
I’ve managed to keep up the thin and gorgeous regime for most of the last twelve months by a simple routine of a morning walk, going out for lunch, and leaving work early enough so I could enjoy life AFTER working hard all day.
And then today I had a wake up call, when I saw a photograph of myself standing next to a colleague. Now, admittedly he’s quite a thin man. But the contrast between his waistline and mine was quite dramatic. Of all the things I saw in the photograph, of course, I focussed on my increasing girth.
Hopping on the scales tonight confirmed my worst fear.
I suspect it’s predomnantly because of my recent change of job. I’ve been working longer and harder than usual, trying to impress of course. And that’s meant I haven’t gone out for lunch as much. And then when I’ve come home I’ve been quite tired, and have been collapsing slothfully onto the couch at night.
And so – and here comes the cliche – I’ve decided tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life, and that I need to really work at losing the weight that I’ve gained.
Perhaps I need to join Grant’s weight loss challenge?
Whatever it’s time for, it’s time…
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