A Tale of Two Red Dresses.

Happy New Year, folks. Welcome to the month of Mondays that is otherwise known as January.

I don't know about you, but this time of year can take a running jump as far as I'm concerned. Coughs and colds, drizzle, post-festive comedown, and generally that awful perpetual morning-after-the-night-before that comes after a party season. FUN FUN FUN and then...oh. Real life.

Pile that on top of the general festive impact on eating and exercise habits and it's pretty rubbish. I'm just looking forward to having three meals a day, rather than adding mince pies as a new food group. And thank God the gym is open again - I came awfully close to camping outside and offering leftover roast dinner for a spell on the treadmill. Goodness knows what I would have done for a session in the free weights section.

Anyway. Like so many other peeps at this time of year, I stepped on the scale this morning and rolled my eyes a little. Yes, a little partying pudge. Nothing major - 2lb gain - but it was more the way I felt. Lethargic, sluggish, tired. Days that would normally be spent kicking my own behind in the gym were joyfully spent catching up with old friends and the associated munchie goodness. And I wouldn't be without them, but it's the equivalent of waking up in the morning with your head pounding and wondering who you let inside you the night before. Reeeeally wish you'd kept a bit more control over things. And, if you're anything like me, a Catholic guilt to rival all others descends and you're tempted to smash the glass digital scale and carve apologies into your skin.

So. I decided to do what I always do when I have one of my scale freak outs (they're less frequent these days, but occasional rear their ugly head). I decided to dig out photos from a year ago.

My zumba class has an annual (duh) Christmas party. Much food, drink and merriment ensues.

In 2011, I had lost the majority of the weight I had set out to lose. I was feeling damn good. I treated myself to a va-va-voom red dress for the party and felt comfortable, proud and a bit foxy (God bless you, Gok Wan for Sainsburys). The dress was a UK size 14 - a size I'd not been since I was actually 14. I saw the photos afterwards and was incredibly happy with them. I weighed just under 150lb back then.

In 2012, I went balls to the wall festive. Short, red, sequinned, sparkly. Nowhere to hide. A real 'look at me' dress, which for someone who would happily be not-so-little-black-dress wallflower in the past was no mean feat. The dress was a UK size 10. I saw the photos afterwards and was quietly proud. I saw a fit, toned, happy looking girl. I weighed about 7lb less than the same time in 2011.

I think we - and I plonk myself right in the middle of that 'we' - sometimes need to remember that the scale isn't the be all and end all. I know there are many posts on the subject - most much more coherent and less brainfarty than this one! - but this is a particularly scale-centric time of year, and bloody miserable enough as it is. So.

Progress photos; the tape measure; clothes; how bangin' your calf muscles look. All much more loyal friends than that treacherous digital square in the corner of the bathroom.




2011, around 150lb



2012, around 142lb