I can't argue with the fact I feel much healthier, and I certainly feel energised and less tired at the end of the day, but remember the reason I started all was in a bid to lose weight. Well, no not exactly, but I started going to a slimming club to lose weight, realised it was a psychotic form of torture, and found myself in the book aisle of my local supermarket.
I went to slimming last night to get weighed. I was slightly anxious, because despite all the positives, I'd have been plenty peeved if I had gained weight. I stood in the queue, thumbing through the book trying to look like I'd read it, secretly checking the naughty-values of all the things I've been eating for the last 3 weeks.
Without wanting to give away which club, it transpires that an ounce of cheese is 4 times as naughty as an ounce of canned black cherry pie filling, a tablespoon of butter is considered 11 times as bad for you as the fat free yogurts that contain 7 teaspoons of sugar, and an avocado is equal to 5 rich tea biscuits. I stood in the queue, listening to the other members... "I was doing alright until the weekend", someone put on 3lb in a week, all the while listening to the leader give the introductory talk to the new members.
So, onto the scales, and thank goodness, 3.5lbs off. Good.
It doesn't matter, because I'm not following the plan, and if I hadn't lost weight I could still have cut back some fat to help that along, but I'm so pleased I had. It validates the whole process, and I know that it works. Basically, it means it's ok to carry on, and if I stick to it, my weight should adjust positively and stay that way.
Eventually, I might come out and say that I haven't been sticking to their rules, or that I've eaten as much butter and cheese as I've lost in pounds (!) but for now, I will politely just slip away.
"Keep smiling" said the woman manning the scales.
I certainly will.