Week 9 Weigh-in - dose 7.5mg

Sep 18
2 min read

BREAKING NEWS

The scales have betrayed me.

Yes, dear readers, after nine weeks of injections, food noise slayage, and a near Olympic-level performance in ignoring biscuits at work, the cold hard truth is this:

I have gained 1.5lbs.

Pause for dramatic gasps, violin music, and a zoom-in on my horrified face.

The Mystery of the Expanding Waistline:

I feel like I’m starring in my own crime drama: CSI: Kitchen Edition. Because I swear on Jabatha’s good name (and the last mini Babybel in my fridge), I have not changed a single thing!

Same meals.

Same coffees.

Same refusal to touch Gregg’s sausage rolls despite them calling to me like sirens in pastry form.

And yet… here we are. Me +1.5lbs.

Honestly, I’d rather find out Ruby (my feline roommate/podcast host) has taken out a Klarna account in my name than face this kind of nonsense from the scales.

Dose Dilemma: 7.5mg = The Betrayer:

Here’s the thing.

Back on 2.5mg and 5mg, I was practically the poster child for Transformation Tuesday.

Nearly 20lbs down!

Applause, confetti, tiny jeans doing a happy dance in the wardrobe!

But 7.5mg?

Oh, 7.5mg is like that friend who hypes you up, convinces you to go out, and then disappears when it’s their round at the bar. It promised progress, and instead it’s given me… a plateau.

No, scratch that.

A reverse.

Like, excuse me?! I didn’t sign up for Dose Gymnastics: The Regression Edition.

Possible Explanations (AKA Things I Blamed This Morning):

Water retention – Clearly I’m holding enough water to fill a paddling pool.

Muscle gain – Did walking up the stairs with laundry turn me into Arnie overnight?

The Scale Gremlins – Known tricksters. They live in the bathroom and live off tears.

7.5mg is cursed – Frankly, this seems most likely.

To Jump or Not to Jump (to 10mg)?

So now I’m in full Shakespearean crisis mode:

“To stay on 7.5, or to risk 10, that is the question.”

Do I ride out this purgatory in hopes it’s a mere plateau (spoiler: plateaus are evil, invented by sadistic scientists to test patience)?

Or do I say “be gone, foul 7.5!” and march triumphantly into the land of 10mg, where maybe - just maybe - the weight will start moving again?

At this point, 7.5 feels like dial-up internet in 2025: utterly useless, frustrating, and making weird noises nobody wants to hear.

Final Thoughts:

Am I mad? Yes.

Am I dramatic? Also yes.

But will I keep going? Absolutely. Because even though this week the scale laughed in my face, the bigger picture is 20lbs gone, food noise still muted, and my willpower still intact.

So, dear readers, we shall regroup. We shall strategise. We shall not let 1.5 rogue pounds undo the journey of a lifetime.

Now excuse me while I glare at the bathroom scales until they apologise.

Signed,

JABatha Christie (currently investigating “The Case of the Mysterious +1.5lbs”)

With Love,

JABatha Christie

BREAKING NEWS

The scales have betrayed me.

Yes, dear readers, after nine weeks of injections, food noise slayage, and a near Olympic-level performance in ignoring biscuits at work, the cold hard truth is this:

I have gained 1.5lbs.

Pause for dramatic gasps, violin music, and a zoom-in on my horrified face.

The Mystery of the Expanding Waistline:

I feel like I’m starring in my own crime drama: CSI: Kitchen Edition. Because I swear on Jabatha’s good name (and the last mini Babybel in my fridge), I have not changed a single thing!

Same meals.

Same coffees.

Same refusal to touch Gregg’s sausage rolls despite them calling to me like sirens in pastry form.

And yet… here we are. Me +1.5lbs.

Honestly, I’d rather find out Ruby (my feline roommate/podcast host) has taken out a Klarna account in my name than face this kind of nonsense from the scales.

Dose Dilemma: 7.5mg = The Betrayer:

Here’s the thing.

Back on 2.5mg and 5mg, I was practically the poster child for Transformation Tuesday.

Nearly 20lbs down!

Applause, confetti, tiny jeans doing a happy dance in the wardrobe!

But 7.5mg?

Oh, 7.5mg is like that friend who hypes you up, convinces you to go out, and then disappears when it’s their round at the bar. It promised progress, and instead it’s given me… a plateau.

No, scratch that.

A reverse.

Like, excuse me?! I didn’t sign up for Dose Gymnastics: The Regression Edition.

Possible Explanations (AKA Things I Blamed This Morning):

Water retention – Clearly I’m holding enough water to fill a paddling pool.

Muscle gain – Did walking up the stairs with laundry turn me into Arnie overnight?

The Scale Gremlins – Known tricksters. They live in the bathroom and live off tears.

7.5mg is cursed – Frankly, this seems most likely.

To Jump or Not to Jump (to 10mg)?

So now I’m in full Shakespearean crisis mode:

“To stay on 7.5, or to risk 10, that is the question.”

Do I ride out this purgatory in hopes it’s a mere plateau (spoiler: plateaus are evil, invented by sadistic scientists to test patience)?

Or do I say “be gone, foul 7.5!” and march triumphantly into the land of 10mg, where maybe - just maybe - the weight will start moving again?

At this point, 7.5 feels like dial-up internet in 2025: utterly useless, frustrating, and making weird noises nobody wants to hear.

Final Thoughts:

Am I mad? Yes.

Am I dramatic? Also yes.

But will I keep going? Absolutely. Because even though this week the scale laughed in my face, the bigger picture is 20lbs gone, food noise still muted, and my willpower still intact.

So, dear readers, we shall regroup. We shall strategise. We shall not let 1.5 rogue pounds undo the journey of a lifetime.

Now excuse me while I glare at the bathroom scales until they apologise.

Signed,

JABatha Christie (currently investigating “The Case of the Mysterious +1.5lbs”)

With Love,

JABatha Christie

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