Week 20 NO Weigh-in - dose 10mg

My darlings, welcome to Week 20, also known as:

“The Episode Where JABatha Christie Cannot Weigh Herself Because She’s Been Busy Dragging Her British Man Across Poland Like a Cultural Hostage.”

Yes.

For the first time in 20 weeks of obsessively stepping on a scale like it’s a personality test, there is no weigh-in.

None.

Zero.

Zilch.

Even my Apple Watch was looking confused like, “Girl? Are we… done? Is this freedom?”

But listen - this week was a special one.

THE GRAND POLISH TOUR (aka: My Childhood, Reloaded)

I took my man on a proper tour of Where JABatha Was Forged.

Think of it like “Origins Story,” but with more dumplings and less trauma… well, depending on how you count my mother’s interrogation techniques.

We travelled across Poland like two overexcited pigeons:

• Trains

• Uber

• Trams

• Buses

• Walking (because Polish distances are always “just 10 minutes,” which translates to 47 minutes, uphill, in wind strong enough to exfoliate your soul)

We saw winter markets, glowing lights, and about 273 Christmas trees.

The whole country is basically a festive fever dream right now.

And we met my parents.

YES.

HE MET THE PARENTS.

My mother, within 14 seconds:

“Do you like JABatha’s cooking? Do you eat vegetables? Why are you so pale? Do you know how to change a tyre? Are you planning to stay? How long? Why that long? Why not longer?”

My dad:

Silently hands him vodka in a shot glass the size of a flower vase.

Also dad: “Na zdrowie.”

Boyfriend:

“Okay.”

It was a beautiful bonding moment.

THE FOOD SITUATION (aka: Why There Is No Weigh-In)

Now, let’s address the other reason I did not dare step on a scale:

Polish hospitality is legally required to feed you every 90 minutes.

I tried to decline a third serving of pierogi and my aunt looked at me like I had personally insulted the entire Slavic region.

And everything is delicious. EVERYTHING.

Pierogi (in all flavours; even ones that should not exist)

• Bigos (the national treasure, cabbage edition)

• Polish sausages (Smoked. Garlic. Melt-your-soul good.)

• Sernik (therapeutic)

• Bread thick enough to stop a bullet

• Potatoes in 47 preparations

I declined a third helping of bigos and my aunt looked at me like I’d just said I don’t believe in Christmas.

Meanwhile, poor Mounjaro inside me was whispering:

“Madam… I can’t fight this battle alone.”

THE SCALE DESERT

Despite crossing half the country, visiting homes, hotels, flats, and winter markets…

Not.

A.

Single.

Scale.

It was like the universe said:

“You know what? Give the poor girl a break.”

And I listened.

Do I know if I lost any weight?

Nope.

Did I gain any?

Possibly.

Bigos is powerful.

But honestly?

This holiday was MUCH needed.

My brain needed it.

My body needed it.

My soul practically did a cartwheel.

THE GRAND MORAL OF WEEK 20

Sometimes you don’t need numbers.

Sometimes you need:

• Family

• Love

• Travel

• Childhood memories

• Polish sausages

• And a complete break from the tyranny of scales

So here we are:

Week 20 - Weight Unknown, Joy Overflowing.

Next week I’ll return to the scale like a Victorian lady clutching her pearls.

But for now?

I’ll take the bigos.

I’ll take the pierogi.

I’ll take the laughter.

I’ll take the memories.

And if I gained anything this week - let it be happiness, carbs, and one very overwhelmed Englishman who now understands the true power of Polish feeding culture.

Na zdrowie, kochani!

With Love,

JABatha Christie