I haven't stepped on a set of bathroom scales for a very long time. I told myself that it was because I knew my old, rusted-up mechanical scales were inaccurate, making them pointless. But (and I bet this comes as a surprise to you all) the real reason I never used them was that I just didn't want to face up to how bad the problem was getting.
Obviously, if I'm going to take losing weight seriously, I've got to find some kind of way of charting my progress; and while I feel happy with the concept that looser clothes would mean lost pounds, going by the fit of my clothes wasn't going to allow me to monitor any changes efficiently enough. So I went out at the weekend and bought some scales.
This morning, I steeled myself for the awful truth. I had a worse-case scenario of 15 stone in mind, and things are better than that – but not much. At the moment, first thing in the morning, clothes discarded (and leaning slightly downwind for aerodynamic efficiency), I weigh 94.3 kilos. That's 14 stone 11 pounds in old money.
I'm not a happy bunny.
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