I have written and deleted this four times because every version sounds like self-pity, so this one is just going up as it is.
Fourteen weeks. Nothing has moved for about six of them. Not a bit slower — nothing. I have done everything I was told and quite a lot I was not told. I walk the long way to work. I have the protein. I write it all down. I have not had a single week I would call careless.
And what I am finding hardest is not the stalling. It is that I have used up all my patience being sensible in public. Everyone in my life is being encouraging. My wife points out that I got up off the floor from playing with our niece at Christmas without doing the thing with the chair, and she is right, and I know it is real, and I cannot make myself care this week. There is a stubborn, ugly bit of me that wants the obvious thing to happen and it is not happening and I am so tired of being gracious about it.
I do not want to be talked out of this. I have read the plateau guide twice. I know about water weight and about how bodies defend themselves and about non-scale change, and if one more person tells me to trust the process I am going to say something I will regret.
I suppose I want to say it somewhere it will not worry anybody. Six weeks of nothing and I am still turning up. That is all I have got.
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