I have been battling against talking about my weight on here and on Twitter because it just seems so dull. I don't want to become one of those weight bores who only talks about the numbers on the scales. I can't think of anything that defines me less than my body mass, which kind of begs the question as to why I want to tell people what mine is, or update them when the number increases. In all the time I've known Tom, I've never known him stand on the scales in our bedroom or look in the mirror poking, prodding, huffing and criticising. Why can't I be like the people I know who accept their bodies and don't give a second thoughts to its measurements? But despite all of my best intentions, I can't help feeling disheartened when, after a week that was certainly better than the last, the numbers don't seem to agree. I can't deny feeling pretty dejected at seeing that the numbers now mirror what I was at the beginning of 2012, before the Jenny Craig diet, before running, before clean eating, before I felt confident enough to post a tummy photo! Aside from the scales, my clothes are feeling tighter and I feel uncomfortable; bloated, slouchy, self-conscious. It's not the direction I want to head in, or the way I want to feel.
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