Weigh in (37)

There be trouble at mill folks; BIG trouble. Two pounds on this week, which brings me up to 16 stone 13.8 pounds. Yes, yes, I know I should be rounding up, but I can't bring myself to utter the word sevv......en......tee.........eeeee.........; nope, sorry, just not going to happen. Before I go any further, could I just say 'I'm sorry'; to myself yes, but also to you who keep on tuning in to see how the weight loss is going, only to find out that the week has actually been a dead loss. You will be given for forgiving up (??) on me, but like I have said before, it would be a much more tedious tale if every week I lost the same amount of weight; stories only become readable stories when adversity strikes, and those adversities are conquered.
The week has been a difficult one. I think I may have mentioned before once or twice (or 48 times!) that I had an operation last Wednesday. I won't go into the nitty gritty, as I may well write a blog post devoted solely to it (won't that be fun?!!) but suffice it to say that it has has left me unable to exercise, and unable to eat anything that isn't either liquid, or at least extreeeeemely soft. Naive old Ady over here (that means me, not some bloke sat next to me called Ady) thought that these might balance out ("only being able to eat soup is not going to pile on the pounds"), but as it turns out, you can still consume a truckload of crap even within these limits. Chocolate/Banana/Vanilla and.....(what was the other one......aaah yes) strawberry milk, Belgian chocolate and butterscotch (not together, but occasionally one after the other) mousses (moussi?), and butterscotch rice pudding have been the comfort foods of choice; and by gum have I had a lot of them in the last seven days. Very, very, VERY bad. On reflection I am amazed that I got on the scales with hope and expectation rather than sheer dread. What an idiot eh?
I know that up until now I have managed to control the comfort feeding, but maybe everyone has their CF limit. I had controlled my reaction to typical events occurring in my life, but didn't account for the big one-offs which come and slap you repeatedly like a really big, wet, disgruntled kipper resulting in a trip to the naughty-fridge. I knew it was coming, but having not had an operation before I wasn't able to ready myself for the aftermath. Live and learn.
So how am I feeling right now? Angry mostly; angry at myself a little bit, angry at whatever that thing is (fate, God, randomness, Santa Claus) who decided that I should have four teeth extracted at a time when I am trying to achieve something (to me) incredible (I'm mad at him/her/it a lot by the way). I'm also worried, as I am still not 'right' healthwise; but with the weight going in the wrong direction, and the run getting closer, I can't afford to let time slip away. Plus I have the last match of the badminton season this Friday, followed by playing in the badminton cup final on Sunday; neither of which I want to miss. For the first time in seven months of doing this I am unsure of what to do, but I feel I need to do something.
So, here's the plan (okay, maybe I do know what to do, just not sure it's the right thing!). I really want to make a showing at the badminton Friday and Sunday (end of the season, promotion, cup final and all that), but going on court without doing any exercise for a fortnight is going to be a disaster. Tonight (Wednesday) will therefore - hopefully - be the long overdue inaugural trip to the gym. I truly hope I get there. I am writing this at lunchtime, and I have a habit of feeling crappy in the afternoon; meaning the gym will be last place I will want to go. At least the sports bag is packed, as if I went home first there would be not an apple's chance in a cider factory of me re-emerging before tomorrow morning. If I make it - regardless of what I do - I will feel I have achieved something. Positivity rules!