Free The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl by Shauna Reid

gold stars at Weight Watchers, the smiley faces on my gym chart, and the sudden roominess of my size 22 trousers.
    After this week’s 2.5-pound loss, I’ve got less than 120 pounds to go. I know that’s still a couple of supermodels glued together, but it sounds far less daunting than six months ago when I had 180 pounds to lose.
    I’m determined to blast that blubber in time for my twenty-fifth birthday. That’s fifteen and a half months away. Do you think I can do it? My trusty spreadsheet reckons it’s possible. I desperately want to be skinny for the second half of my twenties. I’ll have a big party and invite all my lovely Dietgirl readers. I’ll wear a slinky size 12 dress and we’ll all get sloshed on champagne!
    I can’t wait for the day when I’m finished with this lard busting so I can get on with my life. I’m sure it must sound like I have no hobbies aside from crunching carrot sticks and worrying about my thighs. And I can admit that sometimes, particularly when I’m staring at my weight loss spreadsheet at 3:00 A.M. , that I’m a tad obsessive.
    It’s easy to see myself as nothing more than a lobotomized lump of lard—especially when colleagues avoid my gaze in the corridors or salesladies blank me in shops. It used to be a relief to be invisible. But the more weight I lose and the more my confidence inches higher, the more I think, Hey, don’t look right through me! I’m a person too. I’ve got hopes and dreams and hobbies and urges just like you!
    I need to remember there’s more to me than my fat. So what can I tell you? My favorite movie is Roman Holiday . I have red hair. I love Radiohead. My car is twenty years old and needs a wash. I love mangoes and men’s tennis. I’m quite happy being single but wouldn’t mind a bloke some skinny day. I hate Coca-Cola. I wish I could sing. I have brown eyes. I want to go to Russia and see Lenin in his tomb. I don’t hold my pencil properly. I’ve just failed to finish In Cold Blood by Truman Capote for the fifth time. I’m rubbish at housework. I hate shopping.
    Hmmm. I doubt that makes me sound particularly exciting, but will you come to my party next year anyway?
WEEK 28
July 25
277 pounds
74 pounds lost—112 to go
    Fitness Chick Angela has left me! She’s gone overseas. Fair enough if she fancies some adventure, but who’s going to marvel at my wondrous feats of weight loss now?
    I’ve been assigned Fitness Chick Kristy, who seems lovely, but she’s not as gushing and exuberant as Angela. Plus she wasn’t there at the beginning when I was completely hopeless and lardy. She’s come in all these months down the track, when I’m … you know, slightly less hopeless and lardy. So she’ll never fully appreciate how far I’ve come. After all, I’m only in this weight loss caper to dazzle people with my superhero transformation from couch potato to svelte sexpot!
    I weighed in fourteen pounds lighter than my last assessment, which helped me forget I’d gained a pound at Weight Watchers on Monday.
    “Well done,” Kristy said in her mild-mannered way.
    I’m sure Angela would have wept, or at least given me a high-five. Oh well. If I can’t impress other people, I’ll just have to work harder on impressing myself.
WEEK 29
August 2
274.5 pounds
76.5 pounds lost—109.5 to go
    Last night I spent an hour writhing around on a giant rubber ball.
    I told Fitness Chick Kristy that I was bored with the cardio machines, so she suggested I take her Fit Ball class, a low impact workout on a stability ball.
    “Suitable for all shapes and sizes?”
    “Yes.”
    “Even my shape and size?”
    “Yes!”
    “I had a bad experience,” I muttered darkly, “so I just had to check.”
    Last year, Fitness Chick Angela had recommended I try BodyBalance, allegedly a “gentle and relaxing” hybrid of yoga, Pilates, and tai chi. So I squeezed into my size 24 tracksuit and brought Rhiannon along for moral support.
    When they say “suitable for all