In the case of weight loss, it’s not necessarily about the erm weight, lost. A measure of success is tied into habit. It’s habit that got me into this mess in the first place. I quite enjoy the irony that it can also get me back out again.
In each of the last three weeks weigh ins I have stayed exactly the same weight. To adopt a weight loss program that goes against almost everything you have been taught for the last forty years takes a leap of faith. To then not lose weight for three weeks while following it tests that faith to the limit. But, inspired by the story of Robert the Bruce and the perpetually resilient spider that wouldn’t give up. Neither will I.
There are lots of reasons why. The most inspiring of these is the look of bewilderment in Peters eyes as those numbers stubbornly refuse to shrink. He clearly believes in the Paleo movement and I trust him.
There are other more quantifiable reasons.
I’ve already lost a stone. It’s taken a while but it has gone.
In a fit of frustration myself the other week I decided to get the tape measure out and re-visit the measurements I took right at the start. In amazement I stared at the tape measure when it recorded a loss of 5 inches off my waist alone. Five inches in a few weeks is huge. I took it again and again not daring to believe. But the result was consistent and backed up by inch losses on other parts of my body. Not as colossal as the waist measurement but enough to add up to a total of 10 inches overall.
Last Saturday, as I ran over the pedestrian crossing on the Fir Tree Road, my jeans fell down. I’d been hitching them up for a while but figured I’d be safe to break into a trot without the risk of showing my knickers to the world. Apparently not. They dropped quickly to my knees before I realised what they were up to. Thank god I managed to stay on my feet. I can imagine, the only indignity worse than flashing your arse in Banstead, is doing it while prone in the middle of a major junction.
At least it was dark.
The week before I went out for an easy run. I set off at a pace that I thought was testing but manageable. This is normally around 11.30mm pace. I had to take a double look when the first mile beep up at 10.23mm. Even more when the next was 10.39mm including a walk through a very dark bit of the common where I couldn’t see the roots for the trees. The look was even more incredulous when the third one clocked 9.41. I went back as far as my records went (2009) to find a run that matched this pace.
I was convinced it was a fluke until the Thursday ladder session with Pete where I replicated it. It’s been consistently faster ever since.
Then finally, the best yet was when we were out to dinner at Field to Fork last Sunday. Going out to dinner is a special enough occasion to warrant dessert. And we were returning to the scene of the Cheesecake crime of a few weeks ago. As soon as we were handed a menu, my eyes glanced towards the dessert section. Chocolate pudding with cinnamon and butternut ice cream. Yum. Chefs special Apple and Blackberry crumble with custard.
Oh. God. Yes.
It was a stone bonker, done deal. I couldn’t wait.
When we got there I didn’t want it. Instead I got an Americano with hot milk. Whoopy do. Even when we got table spoons to share the dessert I was full. I couldn’t squeeze a mouthful in. “What is happening to me?” I wailed.
But secretly I was pleased. My habits are changing.