It has now been one calendar month since I regaled you with the story of my feet. There is a link to that story here. To save any of you doing yet another click in your little click-filled internet clicking lives, basically I told everyone how much my feet weighed and announced I was embarking on a foot-weight reduction effort.
So, how have I done?
Well, not as well as I hoped. Readers of the original post may recall that Mrs Bryntin seemed to up her game in the home-baking department after I announced that I would be trying to lose some weight. In fact, precisely one hour after I had told her that I was going to make the extra efforts, there were a dozen warm banana muffins taken out of the oven and an instruction to try one.
Notice instruction, not invitation. This is the way of Mrs Bryntin.
Suspiciously, since that announcement, there have also been many dinners that have required cream in the recipe. Piles of mashed potato. Sauces. And lots of butter.
And ‘I’ve made something for pudding…’
You never make something for pudding.
‘I have tonight.’
She has just come back in after an evening out with her group of friends, one of whom is getting married and wanted to have a cake tasting evening to choose which one to have for the wedding. She came back with three slices of cake wrapped up and said that she brought them back especially for me so I could help choose too.
Basically, I think there are blatant attempts at sabotage to my efforts going on. Someone doesn’t want my feet getting lighter while their own are um… not.
I just want to eat some salad and avoid too many carbs and starchy foods. I find however that I am being made to eat a baked multi-layered creamy and cheesy potato and kale dish with some nice fatty roasted belly pork for my dinner too often.
Before you all cry ‘Cook your own dinner, you dinosaur!‘, I do.
And I try to find a middle way to cook things that are acceptable to both of us. But Mrs Bryntin invariably does the shopping and so has autonomy over the contents of the larder and fridge. And she seems to favour foods that are conducive to sitting around after eating them saying things like “Mmmm.. that’s lovely and it’s stuck to my ribs.” and sits heavily in your stomach before immediately heading off to the fat conversion section.
And before you all cry ‘Do your own shopping, you dinosaur!‘, well, no.
That’s going too far.
Of course, there is the extra exercise, the main focus of my efforts and mainly consisting of cycling, although the dog has been involved in some slightly more epic jaunts on her daily walks as well. She’s definitely got smaller.
This was going well until last Thursday when I completely crashed again and have had to stop and go to sleep. This has always been a difficulty. I push hard enough to feel like I’m really doing some good, risk pushing too hard and crash. But sometimes a crash comes whether I’m working it hard or not, so I generally push myself quite hard when I can and hope that I don’t crash. (I know I was talking cycling so I’d just point out that I mean a physical MS crash, not a twisted-piles-of-metal-and-human-and-rubber road cycle crash…)
But you’ll be glad to hear I feel better again now, so I hope to get back in to the routine of three or four rides a week, particularly as the evenings have stretched out now.
So, the tale of the sabotaged foot reduction but nearly a week off from the bike efforts is: Starting figure 101.4 kg
Drum roll (and not an inconsiderable amount of belly roll left yet too….) today’s figure is…
For those still in pound land, this is a starting weight of 223.55 and now 218, give or take a point five. Admittedly using point something in a pounds measurement will only serve to confuse the poor wretches more… perhaps I’ll just stick to kg and the hard of converting to a sensible measurement system can do their own googling.
This is not as much as I was hoping but I am expecting to see an increase in the rate, mainly because I’ve told Mrs Bryntin that she has to eat all cakes by herself now and I will be manfully refusing, which admittedly may not mean she doesn’t make any more and perhaps we’ll pass each other on the scales at some point.
I’ve also negotiated some control of the grocery shopping list although of course I will have to trust her to do it right when she goes.