weightlessness

I wake just before six and decide it’s an omen. I can fit in an hour on the bike, an hour dog walking, and be at work close to on time. 

I never ride on an empty stomach. I must eat breakfast no matter how early I’m on the road. But not today: orange juice is all I have time for. Besides, the truth is that I have a stomachful of fish and chips from the previous night. When buying them I tell myself that this will be the last fish cake, minimum chips and potato cake for quite some time.

In 2005 I stood on the scales one day and was 102.5kgs. For a while before that I was around 100kgs. By mid-2006 I got down to 87-88kgs, but almost got depressed doing so. For the last year I’ve been about 92-94kgs. I would like to be under 90. In my wildest dreams I will go to France around or even under 85kgs.

This morning I haul 93.8kgs around the Mandurang circuit. It’s 29.4kms of ups and downs and I average 26.3kph. I work all the ups, although my legs still feel like shit, and I grind up One Tree Hill. Pedalling close to 200kms in five days in a smack-in-the-mouth reality check on my fitness.

When I get home I ration the weeties, measuring them into the bowl with my smallest bone china mug. I slice half a banana on top. I add milk, full cream, and sugar, a heaped spoon. And after walking the dog and showering, I have a nice slice of toast and vegemite.

There will be no famine here. I know how to lose weight. It’s the very simple formula of exercising more—no problem there—and eating less and less often. This will be much harder to do. Some things need to be all but eliminated over the next six months—chocolate, biscuits, buns and bakeries.

Oh dear.