In terms of surviving, week one has been a success; I am still alive, I’ve lost 4lbs and have not yet succumbed to malnutrition. The most noticeable effect throughout the week has been the fact that my stomach rumbles at 3.4 on the Richter scale. A tsunami warning was issued by the Met Office just off the coast of Scarborough. At one point, my stomach rumbled, and the sound can only be described as an ancient dragon choking on its own vomit. Right there is an example of how dieting can sink the mind into the depths of depravity.
A few years ago, the incident that caused me to start my diet was when my lovely wife, Angela, put her arms around me and tapped my fat stomach twice before walking off. There were no words, no look of disgust and no obvious indication that I should do something about it, but that simple act was the only encouragement I needed. There was no such compelling event last year, and none were forthcoming this year. It leads me to believe that either she has accepted my bulkiness for what it is or she has taken a liking to the rather rotund gentleman. I suspect neither of those is true and that she’s just being polite. I have therefore come to the conclusion that I need to incentivise myself. Upon passing the full-length mirror in my bedroom, I turn myself sideways and marvel in wonderment at my circular profile. For years it has been instinct to ‘hold it in’ but now I avoid this underhand deed so that I can be truly disgusted with myself.
While on a night out with Angela – who, by the way, is the shape of a twig in comparison – she said that the word “diet” is a very negative word and shouldn’t be used. The act of dieting is something that no one looks forward to so how can anyone on a diet expect to adopt a positive outlook on life? I said, “What should we call it then?” She said we should just call it “Reduced portions, healthy eating and plenty of exercise”. Yes, that slips right off the tongue, doesn’t it? She ended the discussion by saying I should aim to change myself from ‘Anorak Man’ to ‘T-shirt Man’. I reckon, even though I am against setting myself unachievable targets, the statement sums it up very nicely. I do however like my anorak.
As a whole side topic, in my previous post, I mentioned about a treadmill “gathering dust”. I love that phrase, it reminded me of when my daughter moved into her new flat, and I said that if she wanted one, I had a spare vacuum cleaner in the loft which was” gathering dust”. Well, I thought it was funny, but for the reaction I received, I might as well have been talking to a garden gnome.