I weighed twelve stone and five pounds this morning. That is the lightest I have been since I started exercising and stepping on the scales regularly. I reckon (Icons passim) that I was about fifteen stone in 2005.
I've not been on a diet. I lost a bit of weight in my dry January, a few pounds since, and the Holy Grail of twelve stone dead looks achievable now. I know that the Body Mass Index is pretty much discredited, but at 168 pounds I would be inside its arbitrary guidelines.
I have to prepare a shed load of burritos before the barbecue tomorrow, and my quality assurance standards will mean that I test a lot of the ingredients by eating them before I even turn up. The following weekend I am away with the U15s on a rugby tour; no chance of a green kale juice and an early night there.
Come May though I could well knuckle down and boil off the last five pounds that lie between me and the nirvana in which everything in my life becomes perfect because my waist is slightly narrower.
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