The 6 Week Body Challenge Part 5 – What The F*ck?

The Six Week Body Challenge Part Five – What The F*ck?

Treading Water

It is now Week Five of the Six Week Body Challenge and the finishing line should be in sight. I feel like a winner in many ways, but this week has brought a few ‘What the F*ck’ moments. Forgive the somewhat impolite title of this week’s blog – but you will hopefully understand when you read of my plight.

You’ll remember, dear reader, that we parted company last week when I had just completed a 14 mile bike ride and a 10 mile walk. My motivation for this long overdue physical activity was that I wanted to knock myself off the 12 stone plateau that I had been on for two weeks. And before everyone starts shrieking that it’s not about weight; that it’s about body shape, tone and whether our clothes fit, let me share something with you.

Eyes Wide Shut

Until recently, I had not possessed a set of scales in the house for ten years. As a result, I had no idea that I was slowly creeping up from ten stone to thirteen stone. I kinda suspected that I was a tad rounder than I had once been, but three stone rounder? What the F*ck!?

And how did I find out about this slovenly weight gain? I’ll tell you. It was because my Mum moved in with us and brought her bathroom scales. This, on the same day that I purchased new industrial scales for my business. I haven’t been off them since!

I still flinch when I recall the night that my ‘weight problem’ was cruelly revealed to me. With curiosity getting the better of me, I rose from my armchair and stepped onto those new scales. While the figure totalled up on the screen, I declared to everyone in the living room that I would “f*cking die” if I was any more than 70kg.

I was 83kg.

Whilst others snittered (knowingly) at my shocking discovery, I reeled back onto the sofa and wailed. Feebly, I reached for my phone and tapped through to a weight conversion website. At 83kg, I was officially 13 stone. What the F*ck?!

In truth I had secretly suspected that all was not well on my forty-plus body. Bits of cellulite have been sneaking on here and there; I started buying more size 14 instead of size 12 – and then, just before Christmas, I bought a load of size 14 clothes in FatFace (oh the irony) at Glasgow Airport, without trying them on – only to discover that I did not fit into ANY of them once I got to Lanzarote! Oh yes – and what about all those subtle attempts to make sure I only appear in the middle of photographs where my expanding waistline is harder to spot! The signs were there for sure. I should have been acting long before now, but it was the scales that finally screamed ‘What the F*ck!?” right to my face.

So yes, I can’t help but use the scales as an indicator – we all do it, even though we shouldn’t.

Weight For It

Anyway – are you all on tenterhooks about whether my hard-core walking and cycling weekend got me off the 12 stone weight plateau? If you are, then it can be nothing compared to how excited I was. I returned home from my ‘activity weekend’ and, no sooner was I in the door than I leapt onto the scales.

“Tada!” said the screen.  For the fifteenth day running it gave me a reading of  12 stone . I was furious.  Of course, it is madness to think that a bit of weekend activity will affect your weight that quickly but this was at the end of a long two weeks.  I had attended all my classes and more;  I was sticking 95% to the meal plan.  I felt more than entitled to scream “What the F*ck?’”

When my other half asked what I was grumping about, I showed him the scales and wistfully asked if he thought there was something wrong with them (maybe a stuck dial inside?). He said that there was nothing wrong with the scales and, like our coaches Robert and Lou, he rightly suggested that I stop obsessing over my weight and concentrate on my body shape and clothes size instead.

Well he sure did regret saying that, because I got my four ‘once a week’ photographs out and, in smart arse tones, asked him to put them in date order. Now bear in mind that these photographs have been taken on the same day of the week, and at the same time.  I have stood in the same position with the same clothes on. Soooooo – if body shape is more noticeable than weight, surely he would be able to line the pictures up accurately –  with my tubbiest photo appearing first and my svelte ‘Week 4 photo’ appearing last.

Now it was his turn to sweat.  I detected a little bit of back tracking on his part. He said that one week intervals were far too short a timescale to spot changes in a body shape, but I hissed at him again. “Put. Them. In. The. Correct. Date. Order”

So, he stared at them for a long time and then?………… put them in all the wrong order.  He accurately selected my tubbiest photo as ‘week one’ (and believe me, that one was not hard to spot) but he thought I looked at my second most heavy in the photograph we had just taken an hour earlier. The nail in his coffin was when he said I looked slimmest in the week two photograph. What the F*ck!!

Down The Rabbit Hole

Fear not for I continued to be sensible. I have reminded myself that changing our body shape cannot be a regimented event. I am not Alice in Wonderland, supping from the ‘Drink Me’ bottle. I am not going to shrink in my exact proportions and, in fact, if I do not follow the proper plan I may well end up looking like a crushed milk carton.

When all is said and done, I do still have a happy ending to report. For the last few days I have been weighing in at 11st 12. A new low! Since starting the challenge, I have also lost three inches off my waist and one to two 2 inches from my hips. Clothes are looser and I feel good.

In fact, I felt so good, that, for a crazy moment, I wondered how close I was to fitting into this gorgeous dress that I last wore two hundred years ago as a size 10.  I’ve never had the heart to throw it out! But as for fitting into it? I’m afraid there is a long way to go on that front. I pulled it over my head and half got into it – but it got stuck at every junction and trying to prise it back off again was no mean feat. When my other half came into the room and found me on the floor, trying to get out of it, like Houdini, he said …… you’ve guessed it ………

“What the F*ck?”

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