A fortnight is a long time in weight loss. It isn't enough time to achieve your goals but it's long enough to derail you. The last 2 weeks have not gone well. I think it's not a stretch of the imagination to draw inferences from the last entry to this one. After much hype, fanfare and self aggrandizement, my efforts have amounted to nil in terms of goal achievement.
If I were feeling generous I could call it a necessary foray in self discovery and therefore worthwhile in its exercise.
Alas, I'm not that generous. If I were to calculate the amount of time added to this journey in terms of setback or failure I would muse that I could have been living my best life for at least 15 years now.
A pointless, self defeating theorem, I have no doubt. If I force myself to find a positive it's this, I have not habitually abandoned my mission. I remain committed and hopeful. I do however, loathe using non abandonment as a crutch on which to lean.
It just reeks of fat privilege to me. That said, the only thing I can do is heft my pendulous carcass into it's well worn saddle on the back of the ever straining Ovine, and continue agonizingly forward before the poor unfortunate animal succumbs to its ridiculous burden and implodes beneath my sweaty, heaving, saddle sore buttocks.
π΄ππ