I am absolutely certain that I will have hilarious tales of falling over mid-sous sus useful and enlightening thoughts on technique to recount after class tonight, so for now I am just posting this week’s Monday weigh-in.

After much prevaricating around the shrubberies and adjusting for initial scale-related follies earlier in the year, which at one point led me to think I had lost more weight than I had, it turns out I’ve somehow lost nine pounds this year.

This means I now weigh 165.0 pounds. For those of you playing along in the UK and, you know, the rest of the planet, that’s 11.78 stone or 74 kilograms.

Depending on whether I am 5’8″ or 5’9″ (which never seems to be entirely clear), this means my BMI is either 25.1 or 24.4 (what a difference an inch makes…). Regardless, I suppose this means I am basically done with the “being overweight” phase of my weight-loss journey and on to the “chubby only in the insane worlds of ballet and cycling” phase*.

For what it’s worth, while I am very much a supporter of the “don’t deprive yourself of the foods you love” plan, a week of eating rather better than usual seems to have finally given me the push to get off the 166-lb plateau I’ve occupied for, like, six weeks now (not that I’m complaining). I haven’t been depriving myself, just partaking in smaller and less frequent indulgences. Same number of calories, different outcome. Perhaps I’ve just been burning more than I realize, but the outcome is unexpected.

My dietary shift, in turn, has resulted from plastering my refrigerator door with pictures of David Hallberg and Daniil Simkin like a thirteen-year-old girl plasters her middle-school locker door with pictures of OneDirection or whatever the boy-band-of-the-week is. Or, at any rate, that has been a contributing factor.

The dancing hippos are there to remind us that nobody can tell you what you can or can’t do … and also because they’re cute.

So there you have it. I am not sure I’m going to start posting my weight every week, because I am really far better at maintaining than I actually want to be, and that could make for a really boring series — but we’ll see.

‘Til later, keep the leather side down.

Notes
*I am a chunkier dancer than I am a cyclist, possibly because ballet is even more insular, alien, and intimidating-to-the-average-Joe than cycling is.