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OK, so I was pretty disappointed in a gain this week. I'd been much better behaved and kept up the exercise. I was hoping to peel off the previous week's gain.

Then I did something that put it all into perspective for me.

I took out my tape measure.

I measure myself on the 16th of every month (my WW month-iversary), just to see how I'm doing.

Now, weight-wise, I'm actually UP .1kg (.2lb) from the 16th of February.

But I've lost 10.5cm (4.1").

Shrinkage with no corresponding weight loss?

We all know what that means...

I'm building MUSCLE, baby!

Ya know, if those two gains mean that my butt now fits into a size 12, then bring it on!

Seriously, at the end of the day, my weight on the scales doesn't really matter. I'm not a jockey or prize fighter, for heaven's sake. But if I look good and can wear nice clothes and I don't get puffed running for the tram or walking up steps anymore, then I'll take a couple of gains.

So, make a note, all of you. Measure yourselves! Every month at least! Because even when the scales might be letting you down, your body might not be.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go dance with excitement at my total centimetres lost...

Out came the tape measure for this month and the news is gooooood.

Another 16cm (6.2") peeled off various bits of me, never to be seen again.

Looking at some of the numbers can be a bit frightening, though.

I've worked a total of 25cm (9.8") off my belly and 20cm (7.8") off my hips.

My boobs and waist have both shrunk by nearly 16cm (6.2") each and each thigh has deflated by 11cm (4.3").

I had no idea there was that much to come off. And there is still more to go!

My current hip measurement is smaller than my starting bust measurement. Worse yet, my current under-bust measurement is getting close to my starting thigh measurement! My thighs used to be as big as my rib cage? Sweet skateboarding Christ!

I'm looking forward to the day I can wear a skirt without pantyhose and not have thigh chafe. I'm still a long way off that, my inner thighs are clinging to that flab like Titanic passengers to a life raft. I kinda thought that having lost this much, I'd be there already, but I guess I just have to forge ahead. Maybe that will be my reward when I get to goal... just in time for the weather to be so cold that I don't want to wear a skirt without tights!

Good: finding out that the pair of size 16 (US 12) shorts you bought are a little too big and you really need a 14 (US 10).

Better: finding a pair of size 14 (US 10) cargo pants that look fantastic (and make your arse look really hot, if you may say so yourself).

Best...?

Trying on the tiny black velvet dress you made for your 21st birthday nearly twelve years ago and finding that it fits FUCKING PERFECTLY!

I'm just walking on air. Hell, nothing can phase me now, not even the fact that the washing machine just overflowed and flooded the apartment!

It was time to pull out the tape measure earlier this week. While it was not really necessary, my clothes are getting looser, it's always nice to get official validation of just how much.

Another 12cm (4.7") gone this month. My arms are finally toning up (wahoo!) and my hips and thighs are still on the downward slide (yay!).

But the shrinkage news is not all good.

How can this be so, you ask. Isn't all shrinkage good shrinkage?

My mum visited this morning and said, "You've lost weight!" But not in that perky, congratulatory tone, more like in that very worried that you're seriously ill tone.

I can slide my jeans off my hips without undoing them. The jeans I bought about a month or so ago.

I'm dehydrated, exhausted, suffering dizzy spells and I look completely wasted.

I've dropped around 3kg (6.6lb) in a week.

No, it's not my diet, I'm apparently suffering from one of the less common side effects of my anti-depressant.

Most of them are supposed to give you constipation.

I wish.

No, after pretty constant wind, gut pain and diarrhoea for a week, I went to the doctor. The doctor, after taking a stool sample (on the count of three... EWWWWWW!), cheerfully informed me that there was nothing wrong with me and told me to drink peppermint tea to settle my belly.

Another week of the same symptoms and, after attempts to self-medicate with things like Immodium, I went to a local pharmacist for some advice.

She had something I could take but she needed to know what I was already on. I told her I was taking Edronax.

A common side effect of which is, apparently, diarrhoea.

Oh joy.

You'd think the doctor might have mentioned that, non?

So yes, Virginia, there is bad shrinkage. My focus now is to get off these meds and to get my system back in order. I'm taking electrolyte and other supplements because I'm clearly getting no nutritional value from anything I'm eating and I'm on hardcore drugs to slow my gut down.

I'm also seeing a naturopath in conjunction with my therapist to find natural ways to manage my depression, because the anti-depressants seem to be doing more harm than good.

I've decided that all I want for Christmas is a couple of weeks of good health. You know, to just feel well and healthy for a while, because it seems that each week I'm hit with something new and exciting.

My next weigh in can probably be taken with a grain of salt.

Oy vey.

I hope, for your sakes and mine, that my next couple of posts are mundane, boring and not involve any sort of medical professional, whatsoever.

Finally, I received a response to one of my old posts about muscle vs. fat.

While I replied with a bit of a scathing email, I just had to respond here.

Yes, Julie, you're very clever. So clever in fact, that you COMPLETELY missed the point of my original post.

If you had been paying attention, you would realise that my post was concerned with trying to convince women of the value of gaining muscle while they are losing weight. It is people like you who bleat, "But muscle weighs more than fat!" who frighten other women into not doing weight work because they think they will get 'fatter'. Completely disregarding the fact that muscle burns fat and is healthier tissue to be carrying around and is denser and therefore makes you physically smaller than someone who is carrying less muscle mass.

No, you were too busy revelling in your own cleverness to possibly consider anything like that.

Now back away from the computer. You're clearly too stupid to be allowed to use it.

Chew on that for a bit, baby.

It's an old saw, but today really proved to me how important planning can be.

Mina talked about how each night she writes down what she's going to eat the following day. It helps her plan her food and keep things under control.

I'm not nearly so organised, I tend to scrawl down what I'm going to eat as I'm standing in the kitchen eating my breakfast. A bit less organised, but it helps me keep control of the rest of the day. I don't need to think about what I'm going to eat, because I already know what I'm going to eat.

Of course, you do get unexpected lunch or dinner invites or cake for someone's birthday so you need to go back and revise, but otherwise it's a good plan.

So I've decided to do NaNoWriMo (yes, I'm completely insane, but I thought we established that a couple of entries ago?) this year. Today was a BBQ picnic for Melbourne participants. I had a sneaking suspicion that the food there would not be the sort of stuff I need to be loading into my gullet at the moment. So, as I ate my toast this morning, I planned out lunch and dinner and packed a lunch for myself.

Bloody good thing I did too. It was all soft drinks (sodas), beer, chips, dips, sausages, donuts and chocolate. Had I not thought ahead and planned out my own lunch, today's eating would have been a disaster area.

Instead, I could politely refuse the chips and snack on my rice/corn crackers or nuts or carrot sticks or cherry tomatoes. I had a smoked chicken, sundried tomato and feta salad to eat, instead of greasy sausages on white bread.

It made it easier to refuse things because I had planned ahead to have other options (and delicious ones at that). I did cave and have a beer, but I planned to be under one point for today, so I'm only over by one.

It's not about being super virtuous or anything like that. It's simply about creating an environment where you're less likely to fail (thanks, Dr Phil!). Sure, I still could have eaten the junk they had at the BBQ, but giving myself a good choice to start with made it easier to make a good choice.

(Thank you to everyone for their lovely comments on my photos! I'm blushing!)

I had an epiphany today.

Something happened to me that has never happened to me before.

It was profoundly disturbing. I felt like there was something wrong with the universe, like gravity had been reversed or the earth had stopped spinning.

Let me explain...

I was having coffee with my business partner last week and I commented that, one day, I wanted to be invited to a marquee at the Melbourne Spring Racing Carnival. (For non-locals, this is a month-long event based around horse racing where girls get to frock up and swan around exotic tents hosted by big business drinking free champagne and eating free food. It's the place to be seen in November and is très chic.) Peter, being the sort of guy that he is, called me two hours later to tell me he'd gotten us into a marquee.

This posed a dilemma. I needed something to wear, something utterly fabulous. I needed a frock of extreme gorgeousness, as well as a hat and shoes and a bag... well, you get the idea.

So, I took a deep breath, counselled myself to not be too disappointed when I couldn't find anything that I really wanted, and took myself shopping.

I went into a store which had some nice frocks, skirts and tops in nice drapey jersey that wouldn't show too many lumps and bumps. They were in red and black and would work in with the rest of my wardrobe.

They weren't what I really wanted. What I really wanted was a floral bit of nonsense that would make me an instant hit on the track. But they don't make those for big girls.

I decided to settle on a perfectly servicable draped red top and a nicely cut black skirt. There was a bit of consternation when I realised that the 14 (US 10) top fit better than the 16 (US 12), I wasn't used to that, but it was a nice buzz.

I bought them because they were suitable and there wasn't going to be anything else out there for me.

I wandered into some other shops and saw the floral frocks I craved, but none of them fit properly. Those shops never had anything to fit me.

I went into a store I'd never been into before. They didn't make clothes for big girls, so why would I bother? I casually browsed the racks, wistfully looking at lacy bits of nonsense and polka-dotted bits of nonsense and floral bits of nonsense.

I stopped in my tracks. She was black satin with a halter neck and a beautiful floral pattern. She had diamante buckles. She was exquisite. She was a 14 (US 10).

I put her back on the rack and walked away, disappointed, but not surprised.

I poked around a little more.

She called to me.

I walked back to her rack and pulled her out. She was beautiful. I bit my lip in thought. What the heck, what harm was there in trying her on? I probably wouldn't even be able to pull her over my head. But there was no harm in trying.

I took her into the changing rooms.

And the world tilted on its axis.

She fit. Not only did she fit, she looked good. Hell, I looked good! I nearly wept.

A whole new world had suddenly opened up to me. I could shop where skinny girls shopped. I could go into shops and try on things and decide whether to buy them based on the cut or the colour or the fabric rather than the fact that they didn't fit.

Suddenly, I have a choice.

I don't have to buy things because that's all there is for girls my size. I don't have to feel disappointed because of the lack of choice. I don't have to settle for something any more.

I don't have to settle for ANYTHING any more.

And I'm going to look hot!

(And yes, I've done more credit card damage buying TWO outfits for the Spring Racing Carnival. So if you'd like to keep me out of the poor-house, there's still lots of lovely things available in my wardrobe clear-out. Please help, how else can I afford a hat for this thing?)

"But that's enough about me. Let's talk about you. What do you think of me?"

Ahhh, external validation, the eternal bitch goddess. Oh, how we grovel at her feet, craving her slightest attention, the smaller number on the scales, the tape measure or the clothing label. When she denies us, how we weep and wail and stuff ourselves with the wrong sort of food and refuse to exercise because what's the point?

How we all aim for that holiest of holies, the holy grail of external validation, the comment of a friend.

Is it any wonder some days you feel you're going insane?

I'm as guilty as anyone of craving this stuff. Sure, I'll spout the party line. Don't weigh yourself every day, measure yourself so you can see results there if the scales aren't moving, blah, blah, blah.

But I'm an utter hypocrite.

(For the record, I don't weigh myself daily, but if the scale doesn't go down once a week, the bottom goes out of my world.)

I want the same validation everyone else does. Today, my ultimate craving was satisfied.

You see, most of the people I know see me too regularly enough to notice any big change. The loss is gradual and so their comments tend to be, "Have you lost more weight?" and the like.

Today I went to lunch with some work friends who haven't seen me since March of this year.

I've never been so happy to be called a 'skinny bitch' in all my life. Oh, it felt so GOOD!

Here's to many more jealous insults!

Just a quick update because it's way past my bedtime, but those suit skirts in my wardrobe that I haven't been able to wear for the past 18 months?

I can now. [enormous grin]

It's monthly measuring time, so out came the tape measure.

A nice little loss, 7cm (2.8"). But the most important thing is that a lot of that came off my hips! One of the very last places I usually lose weight (hips 'n thighs, I'm a pear shaped girl) and yet off it comes.

I owe it all to the divine Ms Stumptuous and her dedication to squats. They are tightening up the junk in the trunk and making me feel all powerful. Don't listen to the myths about squats and what they can do, listen to Mistress Krista, she preaches the truth!

I'm also really focussing in on my water consumption.

I have to drink 3 litres of water a day. I NEED to drink that. If I don't, my skin dries out and goes scaly, my face ages by about 10 years and my lips split and crack. I get dizzy, tired and grumpy. Worse, I eat when I'm actually thirsty and my body is crying out for water.

And yet, do I manage to drink it? Hell no. Despite trying to make it easy for myself by getting a 750ml water bottle so that I know that if I empty it 4 times, I've got my daily quota.

I'll drink a piddly 2 bottles or maybe get to 3, but my body is not happy.

So I've set myself a time limit. The first bottle has to be consumed in the first three hours after I get up. The second bottle in the next three hours and so on. I'll drill myself hard on this for the next week and see if I can't get back into the water drinking habit.

Now I just have to prepare myself for all the peeing...

In breaking news, Tree left the house wearing a pair of jeans that haven't fitted her properly in at least 18 months and a white linen shirt that she hasn't been able to squeeze into for about 2 years.

Eyewitnesses report that she looked hot.

It is unclear whether a national holiday will be scheduled to celebrate this event, but we will keep you informed with regular updates.

We now return you to your scheduled programming.

If you have read this, it is your sworn duty to tell at least one other person, even a complete stranger, this exciting news. Go on, off you go, I'll wait for you...

Demotivated. Derailed. Discouraged. Disheartened. Spiritless. Uninspired. Unmoved. Pick your adjective, it's what I am right now.

Yesterday was a whole other ball of wax...

Our house guest was gone, so I could maintain better control over my eating. I'd blown a wad of money and bought myself a better pair of walking shoes (the old Cons really were not doing the job).

Imagine them with a softer blue grey and petal pink. Kinda girlie, but oh my, the difference they made to my feet. I walked taller, stronger, more freely.

I also got myself some resistance bands and a mat for the Pilates DVD my beloved bought me for our wedding anniversary.

I was little Miss Inspired. I was going to throw myself back into eating right and getting plenty of exercise.

I knew the scales would have bad news for me tomorrow at weigh in. I've been eating appallingly, even if I have been keeping up the exercise. So I've made it a point to measure myself once a month, so that I'm not hanging on what the scale says every week.

This weekend was my monthly measure. In past measures, I've lost 17cm (6.6"), 14cm (5.5") and 17cm (6.6") respectively. Two weeks ago I had to buy new jeans to replace the ones I bought at Christmas, as my old ones barely stayed up. People are commenting on how much smaller I look recently. Cinema seats are positively comfy these days.

So how did the tape measure show a measly 2cm (.7") loss this month? Worse, my arms are BIGGER than they were last month! I measured them three times to make sure.

Yes, I measured in the same spots as last time. Yes, I used the same tape measure.

What on earth has gone wrong? It might be water weight, it's that time of the month, but I don't feel bloated and my bra fits fine, which is the usual giveaway if I'm retaining water.

I've been doing weights recently, but not enough to pump up my arms already, surely?

It was such a blow. I was all set to have another satisfying figure to write down because I feel smaller. My clothes fit better. How could the tape measure tell a different story?

I know I shouldn't complain. It was still a loss, even if it wasn't a significant one. I just wanted this so badly, and to be denied it is almost painful. And tomorrow's weigh in isn't going to be a surprise, but bad news is bad news, whether you're expecting it or not.

It was like being derailed. I know tomorrow I've got to get my shit together and get back on track. I can do this. I will do this. And I'll have days like this, and worse, later on. So I'll just suck it up and maybe throw myself into a bath tonight and tell myself that everything will be better when I'm chin deep in Love Spell scented bubbles. But any ideas or motivation from the audience would be gratefully accepted and appreciated!

It's a story for another time, but it takes a lot for my mum to notice that I've lost weight. Around 10kg, usually.

Last weekend, I had to buy new jeans. I mean HAD to. My old jeans were so loose that not even throwing them in the dryer shrank them enough to stay up on my hips. It was crisis time. So I dragged myself off to buy new jeans.

Shockingly enough, I found a pair that fit well and actually made me look good.

Fast forward to this weekend and I'm in the car with mum, wearing said jeans and heading home from shopping.

"You look so good in those jeans," she says, reaching over and patting my knee... and nearly driving right up the arse of the car in front.

I aspired to having the sort of figure that distracted drivers, I never envisioned I might be in the car with one of them!

Well, even if the scales are unkind at weigh in today, at least I know I've peeled another 17cm (6.6") off my body, a total of 48cm (18.9"--which eerily parallels the exact number of pounds I've lost, cool!)

This would explain why my jeans now resemble clown pants...