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Target Weight
The needle danced around the marker; a step to the left, a step to the right then back to the left again before settling dead on the 13 stone mark. Result! Another benchmark. Four down, one to go. I put it down to the philosophy from the group, don’t starve yourself, eat sensibly and when you’re doing well you can afford to reward yourself.
My problem has always been red meat. I love the stuff. Thick cut, medium-rare, not too bloody though - I’m not a monster. I had a nice cut in the freezer, off the bone. My mouth was watering at the prospect. Served with some thick-cut oven chips (more healthy that fried) and a bit of salad. Or perhaps some peas.
I got to the group late that week. Jan was stood up the front. Another three pound off since last week. She’s done well over the last few months, really cut back on the treats. Her trouble is that she’s got a sweet-tooth and works next-door to a bakery. When her fella left she started coming here. Didn’t want to spend the rest of her life alone, but didn’t think anyone would be interested in her the size she was. She’s a lovely woman though, real friendly, full of encouragement. Lacks a bit of confidence and used to reach for the biscuit tin whenever she felt down. I know what that’s like, sort of. I was the opposite. And it wasn’t the sweet stuff, more like pork pies and sausage rolls. It was when I was painting. I got a real rush, but couldn’t cope with it. I was so excited about the image that I’d have to eat and eat. I can’t really explain it, never really been able to talk about it. Basically, she used to eat when she was down, me when I was on fire.
She sat down next to me.
“Well done Jan,” I said, and she gave me a smile.
“Cheers Frank, Good week?”
“Yeah, not bad at all. Down to thirteen now,” I said as I showed her the slack in my jeans.
“Aye, just as long as you’ve not been fixing your scales – I know your kind,” she said with a chuckle, “no, you’re doing well, good on you.”
Damien called me to the front. The scales stood before me, and I hesitated. Jan had got me thinking, what if my scales weren’t set at zero? I didn’t remember checking. What if that treat has put me back over?
“Come on Frank, it won’t bite!” said Damien, playing up to his group.
I forced all of the air out of my body through my teeth, hoping it’ll make a difference and stepped onto the scales. The needle seemed to take an age to settle before coming to a rest just to the left of the one.
“Excellent, under thirteen stone!” said Damien, and I got a bit of a cheer from the others.
Damien’s been really great with me. He even got me doing a bit of exercise. Nothing serious, just taking regular walks, picking the speed up, get the old heart pounding. A good diet’s not enough, apparently. Don’t get me wrong though, he’s not all star-jumps and push-ups, he knows what he’s talking about when it comes to your diet. First thing he got me to do was to drop the lager. “If you must have a drink,“ he said, “have a short. A vodka, a whiskey - with a Diet Coke if you want.” So I did. He reckons most of that first stone was down to cutting out the lager. He’s a top bloke.
Got down to twelve and a half so I bought myself one of those health grills. Big George Foreman’s Fat Reducing Grilling Machine. Not a bad piece of equipment. It’s amazing the amount of fat that runs out of a steak. Makes me wonder what I’ve been putting into my body all of these years. It can leave the meat a bit dry if it’s under too long, and I like it tender. As you’re cooking it from both sides it’s much quicker so you’ve got to get the rest going sooner. Of course, it’s all a matter of learning how to use it properly.
It took me a while to get to twelve and a half, and whilst I was steadily losing, it was only been a pound a two each week. There were still a few cheers when I got on the scales, but it wasn’t the same as before. Damien asked me to stay for a chat at the end, so I helped him to put the chairs away.
“You’ve done really well over the last six months, “ he said, and it made me realise that’s how long it’s been.
“Cheers,” I said, but I knew there was more coming.
“You’re getting close to your target weight, but I’m sure you’ve noticed that your progress has slowed.”
“Yeah, but I’m still losing weight, and I feel much better too.”
“That’s great Frank, but as a last push you’d probably find it easier if you cut out a little more red meat. Have you considered using Quorn as a substitute in some meals?”
“Well, I’m not sure about that.” I said, very reserved.
“I can get you some recipes, and really, you can’t taste the difference.”
“We’ll see.” I say, but inside I was fuming.
Can you believe that? Me, Quorn? My old man was a butcher, he’d turn in his bloody grave if he saw me eating that rubbish. He taught me all I know about meat. Showed me how to make the most of a carcass, let nothing go to waste. That’s why I make all my own pies, sausages and burgers. I don’t need nearly as much these days, so the freezer stays full for ages. Was Beginning to run a bit low though.
As much as Damien annoyed me, it also inspired me. I put a temporary stop to the painting so as to keep away from the cravings it created. Some of those lengthy walks turned into gentle jogs, and I reduced my portion size too. As much as I enjoyed my food, once I started to feel full I finished eating. I was always brought up to clear my plate, so it wasn’t easy, but the thought of Quorn was enough to do it.
I weighed myself on the evening of the group. I’d lost four pounds, but it wasn’t enough. I gave the group a miss. In the next seven days I added to my exercise routines until I found myself using holes in my belt that hadn’t been used for decades. According to my scales I’d lost 7 pounds in a fortnight, there would be no Quorn for me.
There was a huge cheer when Damien read out my weight. It felt great, it was a huge adrenalin rush, but it was like the painting, the excitement of it all going to my stomach and I wanted nothing more than a slab of meat. Again at the end Damien asked me to stay back. It was torture, I wanted nothing more than to go out and grab some food.
“Congratulations,” Damien said, “target weight a good few weeks earlier than I’d predicted.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I said.
“Well I’ve got something for you.” He reached into his bag, “it’s that Quorn cookbook I was talking about.”
Quorn? I craved fresh meat. He placed it in my hand, and I stood in shock. I’d reached my target weight, I’d been responsible. I may have mouthed a quiet ‘thank you’, but I sure didn’t mean it.
As he stacked the chairs against the wall I approached him, a chair in my arms. He was still talking about Quorn, but the words weren’t fully registering. I let the chair come crashing down over his head, and he dropped to the floor. With a twist of the neck he was finished, and I slung him over my shoulder. Not the best carcass I’d ever had, but it was fresh meat nonetheless.
The needle danced around the marker; a step to the left, a step to the right then back to the left again before settling dead on the 13 stone mark. Result! Another benchmark. Four down, one to go. I put it down to the philosophy from the group, don’t starve yourself, eat sensibly and when you’re doing well you can afford to reward yourself.
My problem has always been red meat. I love the stuff. Thick cut, medium-rare, not too bloody though - I’m not a monster. I had a nice cut in the freezer, off the bone. My mouth was watering at the prospect. Served with some thick-cut oven chips (more healthy that fried) and a bit of salad. Or perhaps some peas.
I got to the group late that week. Jan was stood up the front. Another three pound off since last week. She’s done well over the last few months, really cut back on the treats. Her trouble is that she’s got a sweet-tooth and works next-door to a bakery. When her fella left she started coming here. Didn’t want to spend the rest of her life alone, but didn’t think anyone would be interested in her the size she was. She’s a lovely woman though, real friendly, full of encouragement. Lacks a bit of confidence and used to reach for the biscuit tin whenever she felt down. I know what that’s like, sort of. I was the opposite. And it wasn’t the sweet stuff, more like pork pies and sausage rolls. It was when I was painting. I got a real rush, but couldn’t cope with it. I was so excited about the image that I’d have to eat and eat. I can’t really explain it, never really been able to talk about it. Basically, she used to eat when she was down, me when I was on fire.
She sat down next to me.
“Well done Jan,” I said, and she gave me a smile.
“Cheers Frank, Good week?”
“Yeah, not bad at all. Down to thirteen now,” I said as I showed her the slack in my jeans.
“Aye, just as long as you’ve not been fixing your scales – I know your kind,” she said with a chuckle, “no, you’re doing well, good on you.”
Damien called me to the front. The scales stood before me, and I hesitated. Jan had got me thinking, what if my scales weren’t set at zero? I didn’t remember checking. What if that treat has put me back over?
“Come on Frank, it won’t bite!” said Damien, playing up to his group.
I forced all of the air out of my body through my teeth, hoping it’ll make a difference and stepped onto the scales. The needle seemed to take an age to settle before coming to a rest just to the left of the one.
“Excellent, under thirteen stone!” said Damien, and I got a bit of a cheer from the others.
Damien’s been really great with me. He even got me doing a bit of exercise. Nothing serious, just taking regular walks, picking the speed up, get the old heart pounding. A good diet’s not enough, apparently. Don’t get me wrong though, he’s not all star-jumps and push-ups, he knows what he’s talking about when it comes to your diet. First thing he got me to do was to drop the lager. “If you must have a drink,“ he said, “have a short. A vodka, a whiskey - with a Diet Coke if you want.” So I did. He reckons most of that first stone was down to cutting out the lager. He’s a top bloke.
Got down to twelve and a half so I bought myself one of those health grills. Big George Foreman’s Fat Reducing Grilling Machine. Not a bad piece of equipment. It’s amazing the amount of fat that runs out of a steak. Makes me wonder what I’ve been putting into my body all of these years. It can leave the meat a bit dry if it’s under too long, and I like it tender. As you’re cooking it from both sides it’s much quicker so you’ve got to get the rest going sooner. Of course, it’s all a matter of learning how to use it properly.
It took me a while to get to twelve and a half, and whilst I was steadily losing, it was only been a pound a two each week. There were still a few cheers when I got on the scales, but it wasn’t the same as before. Damien asked me to stay for a chat at the end, so I helped him to put the chairs away.
“You’ve done really well over the last six months, “ he said, and it made me realise that’s how long it’s been.
“Cheers,” I said, but I knew there was more coming.
“You’re getting close to your target weight, but I’m sure you’ve noticed that your progress has slowed.”
“Yeah, but I’m still losing weight, and I feel much better too.”
“That’s great Frank, but as a last push you’d probably find it easier if you cut out a little more red meat. Have you considered using Quorn as a substitute in some meals?”
“Well, I’m not sure about that.” I said, very reserved.
“I can get you some recipes, and really, you can’t taste the difference.”
“We’ll see.” I say, but inside I was fuming.
Can you believe that? Me, Quorn? My old man was a butcher, he’d turn in his bloody grave if he saw me eating that rubbish. He taught me all I know about meat. Showed me how to make the most of a carcass, let nothing go to waste. That’s why I make all my own pies, sausages and burgers. I don’t need nearly as much these days, so the freezer stays full for ages. Was Beginning to run a bit low though.
As much as Damien annoyed me, it also inspired me. I put a temporary stop to the painting so as to keep away from the cravings it created. Some of those lengthy walks turned into gentle jogs, and I reduced my portion size too. As much as I enjoyed my food, once I started to feel full I finished eating. I was always brought up to clear my plate, so it wasn’t easy, but the thought of Quorn was enough to do it.
I weighed myself on the evening of the group. I’d lost four pounds, but it wasn’t enough. I gave the group a miss. In the next seven days I added to my exercise routines until I found myself using holes in my belt that hadn’t been used for decades. According to my scales I’d lost 7 pounds in a fortnight, there would be no Quorn for me.
There was a huge cheer when Damien read out my weight. It felt great, it was a huge adrenalin rush, but it was like the painting, the excitement of it all going to my stomach and I wanted nothing more than a slab of meat. Again at the end Damien asked me to stay back. It was torture, I wanted nothing more than to go out and grab some food.
“Congratulations,” Damien said, “target weight a good few weeks earlier than I’d predicted.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I said.
“Well I’ve got something for you.” He reached into his bag, “it’s that Quorn cookbook I was talking about.”
Quorn? I craved fresh meat. He placed it in my hand, and I stood in shock. I’d reached my target weight, I’d been responsible. I may have mouthed a quiet ‘thank you’, but I sure didn’t mean it.
As he stacked the chairs against the wall I approached him, a chair in my arms. He was still talking about Quorn, but the words weren’t fully registering. I let the chair come crashing down over his head, and he dropped to the floor. With a twist of the neck he was finished, and I slung him over my shoulder. Not the best carcass I’d ever had, but it was fresh meat nonetheless.
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English_Bloke wrote:
> What I really want to know is what does the snail being incontinent
> have to do with it being a bad writer?
Because incontinence is very distracting, so making it harder to apply 110% to the story. You try it
> What I really want to know is what does the snail being incontinent
> have to do with it being a bad writer?
Because incontinence is very distracting, so making it harder to apply 110% to the story. You try it
What I really want to know is what does the snail being incontinent have to do with it being a bad writer?
arctic hobo wrote:
> Of course I've read Hemingway (The Old Man and the Sea, For Whom the
> Bell Tolls, To Have and to Have Not and A Moveable Feast, if you're
> asking), if I hadn't I'd have used another author I admire.
> I'm not intending it as an attack which is how you seem to have taken
> it. I'm merely stating my opinion of your work.
>
> EDIT, re-reading your response: Just because my comments were
> negative does not make them any less worthwhile.
Yes, to be honest I did think it was an attack - "a plot worthy of an incontinent illerate snail" can not really be taken any other way!
Regarding the story, the plot is supposed to be simple with a twist at the end - I don't see what's wrong with that, but if you's like to expand upon what you said...
Anyway, thanks for saying it was relatively well written.
In fact, thanks to everyone who took the time to read it and make a comment, much appreciated.
> Of course I've read Hemingway (The Old Man and the Sea, For Whom the
> Bell Tolls, To Have and to Have Not and A Moveable Feast, if you're
> asking), if I hadn't I'd have used another author I admire.
> I'm not intending it as an attack which is how you seem to have taken
> it. I'm merely stating my opinion of your work.
>
> EDIT, re-reading your response: Just because my comments were
> negative does not make them any less worthwhile.
Yes, to be honest I did think it was an attack - "a plot worthy of an incontinent illerate snail" can not really be taken any other way!
Regarding the story, the plot is supposed to be simple with a twist at the end - I don't see what's wrong with that, but if you's like to expand upon what you said...
Anyway, thanks for saying it was relatively well written.
In fact, thanks to everyone who took the time to read it and make a comment, much appreciated.
A nightmare of memories in that. This, along with your cheesecake entry, leads me to believe you've either attended one of these classes or had to endure someone else's experience of them. It is so familiar I could even guess at the class name.
Although I confess that I've never murdered the class leader :)
Expected twist at the end but nicely put together, as usual.
Although I confess that I've never murdered the class leader :)
Expected twist at the end but nicely put together, as usual.
For Whom the Bell Tolls...I remember that having something to do with John Dunn. And Metallica (Danannaah! Danannaah du dah dah! *headbangs*)
Of course I've read Hemingway (The Old Man and the Sea, For Whom the Bell Tolls, To Have and to Have Not and A Moveable Feast, if you're asking), if I hadn't I'd have used another author I admire.
I'm not intending it as an attack which is how you seem to have taken it. I'm merely stating my opinion of your work.
EDIT, re-reading your response: Just because my comments were negative does not make them any less worthwhile.
I'm not intending it as an attack which is how you seem to have taken it. I'm merely stating my opinion of your work.
EDIT, re-reading your response: Just because my comments were negative does not make them any less worthwhile.
arctic hobo wrote:
> That plot is worthy of an incontinent illerate snail. It's relatively
> well written but Hemingway couldn't drag a readable story from that
> plot.
"illerate"? Oh the irony.
Given that I have had worthwhile feedback here and on another website about this story, I don't think I'll shed too many tears over your comments here.
As for Hemingway, have you read any? I read Men Without Women (a collection of short stories) recently, and found his style to be very strange, though I believe he once said, "If it sounds like writing, rewrite it." Or something very similar. Or it may have been someone else...
> That plot is worthy of an incontinent illerate snail. It's relatively
> well written but Hemingway couldn't drag a readable story from that
> plot.
"illerate"? Oh the irony.
Given that I have had worthwhile feedback here and on another website about this story, I don't think I'll shed too many tears over your comments here.
As for Hemingway, have you read any? I read Men Without Women (a collection of short stories) recently, and found his style to be very strange, though I believe he once said, "If it sounds like writing, rewrite it." Or something very similar. Or it may have been someone else...
Very Nice liked that alot!
That plot is worthy of an incontinent illerate snail. It's relatively well written but Hemingway couldn't drag a readable story from that plot.
Yeah predictable, but still quite funny.
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