In a couple of hours, we'll be serving up some sort of salad involving quinoa, marking the final meal of our 9 days of the Holford diet. Now, 9 days ago, I'd been furtively harbouring plans for what I'd be doing come midnight tonight. I was going to ensure there was both pizza and beer in the fridge, and was going to make myself a blissful midnight supper, whether the Kiwi wanted to join me (or even approved) or not.
Now the funny thing is, I really don't feel like it.
In the past week or so, I've lost about 5cm off my waist, which when fully expanded is (or 'was') a truly terrifying sight, and the fairly decent abs that lurk beneath are only thus due to the strain of holding it in all the time. There's something approaching 'tone' going on, too, and my skin's starting to resemble that of someone in their early thirties rather than early teens. I've also put on two kilos, which brings me ever closer to a decent weight, and I'm sure this all isn't entirely down to the occasional bout of Wii Tennis.
So I'm not all that keen to put all the past week's efforts to waste. Although we're not intending to be quite as ascetic this week (and for the forseeable), we're planning a similar diet, similar exercise approach and so on, and yes, I'll be out Tuesday (meeting up with Mark for the first time in ages) and Wednesday (birthday of tall Kiwi) nights, but that's eminently allowed.
However, without the constraint of an actual regime written down on paper, it'll be interesting to see how I get on with this, as my self-control has never really something that, well, exists. Watch this space, chaps.
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