There is a stark, cold fact about being fat. You feel embarrassed, shamed.
You feel sick at the thought of facing those same clothes that do nothing but save others from the full extent of your self-loathing.
Mirrors are a morning slap in the puss.
Each day you wonder exactly what it is people think of you. It engenders paranoia, crisis of confidence, dark moods.
Which was why when Iain first suggested we have those hideous images at the header of this blog done, I took a fair bit of convincing.
His reasoning – it would shame us into never giving up.
The very same reason we asked people to donate money to our charities. So we couldn’t go back on our word.
It is exactly why now, with more than 120,000 visitors to this site and scores of messages of encouragement, we know we cannot cave now.
We would let not just our supporters down and those like Trainer Paul, Producer Clare and the QMU team, but ourselves too.
There was a time last month when I’d been back on the turps and saw my weight quietly balloon to half a stone above target.
It plunged me into panic, for the first time I felt like giving up.
If I’m brutally honest, I’d grown tired of the whole damn thing.
For all of the great things this past two third of a year have delivered in terms of the people we’ve met, the places we’ve seen, it has been really hard.
Hard turning down invites to BBQs with friends such as on Saturday night, tough having a working lunch of quiche and salad while your companions enjoy juicy burgers and fries as on Friday or being able to buy nothing remotely healthy at Haymarket station cafe.
Constantly being offered cakes and buns, fruit instead of biscuits, water instead of wine, scrambled egg instead of sausage.
Or having been forced to turf out the majority of your super-sized wardrobe that no longer fits, feeling utterly scruffy as you try and work out just how long you can survive with one suit before spending more cash you can ill afford.
It becomes a bind, saps the soul.
My crisis came just six weeks ago, pretty much out of the blue given all the fun I’d genuinely been having.
Ahead was my second 10k of the year, training was going badly. In fact, it wasn’t actually even going.
We haven’t seen Paul for weeks given everyone’s schedule.
My get up and go had got up and went and as far as I knew Iain was still cracking on at his work’s gym and on his rowing machine at home, luxuries I don’t have.
Feeling utterly miserable, I dragged myself to boxing at Lochend and put in a shift and a half.
Then again a few days later.
It was a chance to punch out some frustrations and sort out my head a little.
Terry McCormack who runs the gym happened to be there and asked how things were going.
He said he could see I’d lost weight again, we spoke about my target and he said he was sure it could still be done.
It was good to hear.
In the end I ran the 10k across the Forth Road Bridge and enjoyed it like no other run I’d done.
Not only did I set a personal best time of 60mins 31 secs, I soaked up the camaraderie of being part of a great bunch of people.
Almost all were members of running clubs, proper athletes.
But they couldn’t have been kinder, warmer or more generous in their time and advice – with Pitreavie AAC being the perfect hosts.
I’ll confess, the night before the race I had decided not to bother.
I still don’t know why I made the effort to get up at the crack of dawn, catch two trains and lose most of my day off.
But I remain elated that I did.
I posted a picture of the race end to my Facebook and Twitter accounts, and what came back were some lovely messages.
Folk saying that I was looking well, thin and lean, congratulating me on the time.
And all the gripes, groans and self-doubts melted away.
I’ve not made it to the gym this week, nor boxing or even a run.
But I’ve made sure and compensate by doing 500 sit ups in the morning and where time allows, night too.
This week when I stepped on the scales the number popped at 13st 12oz.
I’ve not been 13st anything since I was about 24.
I had no intention of mentioning any of this internal doom and gloom on the blog.
For the most part I’ve enjoyed this adventure so far, and it seemed a little churlish to have one bump in the road spoil the mood.
It seemed insignificant, a problem I had to deal with only.
But Iain’s revelations that he’s had a setback I know will have hit him hard no matter how brave a face he puts on it.
He’s that kind of guy, he wants to do well for everyone.
In his analysis he should consider that I suffered something similar just six weeks ago and am more or less back on track.
He can do the same double quick too. He is fitter and healthier than at the start, he will not have to endure the same six months – he’s still halfway there remember, two and a half stone lighter which remains a remarkable achievement.
Most of all, he should remember he is not alone.
He is blessed with his wife and family, he is spoiled for good friends rooting for him not least myself, he has the likes of Paul and Angie on his side.
And not forgetting the 120,000 visits we’ve had to this blog and many more messages and followers on Twitter.
It is scary to think we are now so far through the year.
Yet there remain four months for us to hit our target.
A quarter of the year to dig in, graft hard and make sure when the New Year bells toll, we’ll have something to celebrate.
Iain was the one who insisted we had those pictures taken for this blog, remember.
He said it would serve as a reminder to never give up.
Hopefully in that, we remain in total agreement.
We have come too far to throw the towel in just yet.
Good man