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So I am 10 stone, a perfectly happy weight for me- dress size 10-12. Lost 2 stone on Ozempic and am desperate not to put it back on. Can’t really afford Ozempic long term but hate that the food noise has returned. I’ve never been obese so I guess I’m one of those unpopular recreational users. I hear that MySimba is loads cheaper so thought I’d give it a go. £115 for 5 weeks (MySimba) compared to £200 a month(Ozempic). Barg.
So, they ask for a photo of your ID (drivers license etc.) and your feet on a scale showing your weight. That’s ok, I think, I’m a woman of creative means. I need to be 5 stone heavier to qualify
10 mins later I’ve grabbed some bricks from our garage (leftover DIY project) and have popped them in a rucksack. I’m impressed with my ingenuity tbh. I pop the bag on my back, but unfortunately bricks do not weigh as much as I had envisaged. So there I am with a rucksack of bricks on my back, still only weighing 12 stone, which is NOT ENOUGH. I can’t fit more bricks in the back. And I’m exhausted.
Husband comes home, pops upstairs, and stands in doorway of our bedroom as I’m on my scales, rucksack full of bricks on my back (sweating from carrying them upstairs…should have thought that through, but bonus have probs lost 3llb from the exertion). He says “Anything I should know?”
I explain, and although he tells me (as he always does) that I’m just perfect how I am he also suggests that there is a much smarter way to approach the problem.
So there we find ourselves, a combined age of more than 90, me standing on the scales, him clinging to me from behind with his foot on the back of the scale with half his weight, us both giggling. And voila….I manage to get the magic photo of my two feet, my drivers license, and the scales showing 15 stone.
Don’t do this at home kids. I’ve hurt my back with the fucking bricks and I’m self-medicating with chocolate, the irony of which is not lost on me
I’ve told the husband we can never split up. He knows too much. I’d have to kill him. Probably with one of those bricks.
So, they ask for a photo of your ID (drivers license etc.) and your feet on a scale showing your weight. That’s ok, I think, I’m a woman of creative means. I need to be 5 stone heavier to qualify
10 mins later I’ve grabbed some bricks from our garage (leftover DIY project) and have popped them in a rucksack. I’m impressed with my ingenuity tbh. I pop the bag on my back, but unfortunately bricks do not weigh as much as I had envisaged. So there I am with a rucksack of bricks on my back, still only weighing 12 stone, which is NOT ENOUGH. I can’t fit more bricks in the back. And I’m exhausted.
Husband comes home, pops upstairs, and stands in doorway of our bedroom as I’m on my scales, rucksack full of bricks on my back (sweating from carrying them upstairs…should have thought that through, but bonus have probs lost 3llb from the exertion). He says “Anything I should know?”
I explain, and although he tells me (as he always does) that I’m just perfect how I am he also suggests that there is a much smarter way to approach the problem.
So there we find ourselves, a combined age of more than 90, me standing on the scales, him clinging to me from behind with his foot on the back of the scale with half his weight, us both giggling. And voila….I manage to get the magic photo of my two feet, my drivers license, and the scales showing 15 stone.
Don’t do this at home kids. I’ve hurt my back with the fucking bricks and I’m self-medicating with chocolate, the irony of which is not lost on me
I’ve told the husband we can never split up. He knows too much. I’d have to kill him. Probably with one of those bricks.
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crazy! 
Front view on I don’t look any different!) :
and when I show them the before photo I think they’re really shocked because they forget how big I was before. 
) husband has helpfully suggested that I retain the spare 98 needles and prod myself with one every time I fancy scoffing a cake. Apparently it might be as effective as Ozempic, and cheaper.