B-b-b-b-b-b-b-blog?

I seem to have some kind of blog stutter, I have things to say, but I just don't seem to be getting them out...perhaps because I'm not doing any of the things I set out to do, which is not so good for the old chubb-o-meter, motivation, or desire to report back. Day 4,567 - Nothing has changed. Does not make for a good Captain's log.

All the while I have not been writing things I haven't been doing a whole lot else, except eating apparently, getting fatter, and less fit. So every day I don't write, I get further and further down the slippery slope away from my goals. Something needs to change. A few things have changed, perhaps I shall blame my demise on those.

I saw a video of myself trampolining the other week. Now trampolining is quite good exercise I think, but once a week of anything doesn't really cut it. It's good fun though. But I genuinely didn't realise I'm as tubby as I appear to be. I'm like a wrong way round body dysmorphic, the fat girls Kevin Bridges talks about in his sketches. I used to be quite muscly, now I'm kind of....lumpy. I'm still not a total beast, I've just generally filled out in all directions. Some filling in? unfilling? emptying? whatever the opposite of filling out is, needed.

I now tip the scales at a whopping heavyweight **kg. Which is embarassing to say, and quite ridiculous. Especially given that I was chubby when I was a good 10 kegs less. Now, well, that's a beast and a half right there. To add insult to obesity I am also still paying a gym membership, which I haven't used in an awful long time. Being the wily problem solver that I am, I thought to myself...gyms are places you can run, and swim, and train. I have a gym membership. I could do with running, and swimming, and training...I know! I'll go to the gym!

I think I need a routine. Perhaps an up in the morning and out to the gym for 45 minutes type routine. I'll not make a specific long term goal till I've done that for a while. But I have one in mind, Fat Lucy's 1000 mile challenge will also be reinstated, or woken from it's dormant slumber.

I've fallen in love. Not with food, I already loved that. Or with exercise apparently. I do love that, we're just estranged, artistic differences maybe. With a boy. Well a man, a boy, at my age, would be a bit disturbing, and illegal. I think that is the root of my health demise...I'm not holding him personally responsible, I just think the two are connected. Well, no, I probably am holding him personally responsible.

Before, when I was sad and lonely, I thought, I must try to be thin and beautiful, then surely my true love will find me, he'll rescue me (ready plucked and beautiful) from the highest room, in the darkest tower, my sylph-like figure shall emerge gracefully out a tiny window, we shall ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after. In the end these things didn't happen, there were no windows, or dragons, or horse back. There was a viking, a (long)brief interlude and a pantomime. And then he just kept liking me, even if I didn't have pretty hair, or make-up on, or hadn't shaved my legs, or plucked my eyebrows, and even when I'm a bit fat. He doesn't seem to mind. Which I find quite genuinely baffling. But I've not said anything, you know, trick him into thinking nothing's changed, till one day I get stuck trying to get out the door and he realises I weigh 43 stone.

Hopefully it won't work out that way. So, in summary, I blame my loving viking man for me being fat(ter). But I'll need to change something, stop all this sociable eating, start some walking and gymming and swimming and make life more healthy all round.

I'm off to play netball, my second ever attempt. Someone shouted at me last week, and I think I was maybe a wee bit too eager, and stood on a waif like girl's toes. I'm pretty sure she stood on mine too, but she didn't even dent the soft trainer fabric...

Back tomorrow, (< said with mild-moderate conviction, and no intentions of taking any sort of responsibility if it turns out to be a lie). Laters dudes.