I have shrunk.
To the point where I now look like someone wearing a parent or older siblings clothes. I appear to be dressed in hand-me-downs.
It was the summer’s fault. Not often you hear that in a positive sense.
A number of glorious months, meant I could walk till the rubber on my shoes melted in to the tarmac and concrete below my feet. No buses or cars for me. The open air, the promise of more sun and sweat cascading down my back, as I crossed one wooded path after another to get to work.
Across the course of a year I lost a stone. Most of that went between May and September of this year. I have put a little bit back on, what with living out of a hotel and restaurants these past six weeks, but not much.
Which means my clothes flop rather than hang. Thankfully most of what I wear in Newcastle is work “clobber” – shirts and trousers bought during the great slim of 2018. It’s when I get home that you see a difference. Where I still wear hoodies bought in New York 10 years ago. Jumpers you could use for sails. T-shirts falling apart or coated in stains from enthusiastic eating.
I hate shopping. More so when I don’t have the confidence in what it is I want to buy.
I don’t have to hide a belly as much as I used to. Shirts more likely to be tucked in than ever before.
Where four knee operations caused me to balloon – it proved that the more active I became, the greater the improvements I could make. Will continue to make.
Now I just have to face up to the shops and rows/shelves of clothes I would never normally buy.
Wish me luck!