This has been the summer of the rucksack. Since May halfterm, I’ve pretty much spent my life packing and unpacking, with a fair amount of laundry in the brief intervals between trips. This was my attempt at packing lightly for Northumberland (I took a hairbrush- what was I thinking of?)
I came to regard that rucksack as an instrument of torture.
I was convinced it must weigh some ridiculous amount, probably exceeding airline baggage allowances. But when I put it on my bathroom scales, they read one stone exactly.
Interestingly, that’s precisely how much weight I’ve lost* since the lowpoint of January (gotta love the symmetry there.)
Carrying that weight of rucksack was hard-going, for me, anyway (I realise many people carry huge loads, but even that pack made everything hurt at the end of ten miles.) Putting it down at the end of the day was liberating. It made me think; keeps on making me think…
*Just so we’re clear, I’m really really not into posting about weight, loss or gain, as a general rule. I’m fat, I’ve always been fat, and putting that under scrutiny actually makes my toes curl, now I think of it.