A Sense of Scale, for Once

A funny thing happened today: Someone I hadn’t seen in about a month or so asked me if I had lost weight and I felt… nothing. I didn’t thrill at the idea or even take it as a compliment. It was just something someone said that frankly didn’t matter that much.

I wondered if that was because recovery has taught me that losing weight isn’t always a good thing. That saying it just isn’t the compliment I used to think it was. And because I don’t get on scales so I can’t really say for sure. But mostly I think I don’t care that much because I’m feeling pretty good about the way that I’m eating, and I’m not actively trying to do anything besides feel comfortable in my own skin. (And no amount of weight loss will magically do that.)  

It’s been a very busy day and I’m exhausted. I haven’t been sleeping very well, and then I was up to go to a gym class (I rarely go to classes these days, partly because the timings don’t generally work, partly because they’re too crowded, and partly because some days I just don’t feel like learning anything, which the best classes usually require.) It was a fairly brutal metabolic conditioning class and I staggered out of there. I rarely get sore any more, but I think I might be tomorrow.

Then racing to get a couple of pitches out (the window for them was shutting within hours) and deal with some other potential work, and finally on to meet friends for drinks. Which became dinner that involved triple fried chips (in my as-yet-unwritten-book, one of the few kinds that are a “must order”) and sourdough bread with garlic butter. I was so hungry by the time our food arrived (north of 9 pm) that it was a struggle not to just finish everything because it was there. I’m pleased I didn’t, though, and – although this restaurant serves one of my favourite desserts in the world – I actually didn’t mind that our waitress never offered us dessert menus and we could just get the bill and go. I was (and am) exhausted. Bought a single salted caramel profiterole in a tiny amount of chocolate sauce (love whoever came up with that) on the way home that I feared might send me over the edge (it's never great when I buy spur-of-the-moment desserts), but it hasn't. Going to get to bed before I get my sometimes annoying, sometimes fantastic midnight second wind.