I've been finding it hard recently to see a lot of pros in not being able to eat as much as I like of whatever I like. It's not that I'm about to give up or anything but I don't feel much different at my current weight to how I did when I was nearly 6 stone heavier...well, you know, other than feeling a bit deprived of binges of crappy food.
It's a bit of a cliche that fat people are jolly, but also their seems to be a belief that some of this jolliness conceals a deep-seated unhappiness. Possibly this derives from thinnies who think that surely nobody could be happy if they were that heavy? Well, obviously I'm not the perfect example, being overweight still, but I'm no happier now than I was. Right at this moment, if anything, I am sad, but no sadder than I was, occasionally, when I was bigger.
So why should I keep the weight off. A longer, happier life is a bit too much of a tenuous thing to me. After all, I could get hit by a meteor tomorrow, and I'll be looking pretty foolish then.
But then, I got a message from an old friend. She told me she had just read my blog about plantar fasciitis and she asked how I was finding it now that I had lost weight. And I don't think I've really thought about plantar fasciitis in months, because I haven't had it. And it was really, horribly, knacker-clenchingly, spine-wobblingly painful. And miserable. And crap.
And while I've taken it easy on my feet, and wear my supports in my workshoes and generally tried to look after them, some of the credit has to go to my having lost weight.
So I suppose I'd better try to keep it off.