For as long as I can remember I’ve been on a diet, or at least in need of one. When I was seven my mum took me to the Dr because I had a cold or some other unrelated illness and the Dr (who himself was, let’s be honest here, a fat fucker) told her I was overweight and sent me to a dietician. There started my unhealthy relationship with food. It really started when my parents split up and I would spend the weekend with my father who plied me with sweets and crisps and sat me in the corner of his local pub. I was the very essence of the coke and crisps kid. I’ve since learned from the various counsellors I’ve attended (clearly I have issues) that I associate food with love. The amount of food I have consumed over the years would suggest I have felt largely unloved!
Anyway, I digress. I lost a bit of weight going to the dietician, I was under the watchful eye of my mum, but then I went to secondary school. There were vending machines and a there was a cafeteria. The weight started creeping on again.
As a teenager I was a size 16. Looking back I wasn’t actually that fat. I’m fairly tall and curvy. But, I thought I was hideous. Fat and ugly. So I ate some more. And I ate and ate. And I got fatter and fatter. I dabbled with laxitives and bulimia. Neither lasted long nor had the desired effect.
Relationships came and went and I got bigger and bigger. I tipped the scales at 18 plus stone when I was around 30. Then I left my husband. I lost weight so fast. I stopped eating and lived on cigarettes and tea and alcohol. I lost 5 stone in as many months. The weight loss was addictive. I was a size 16 again. In the mirror I looked fine but in my head I was still fat.
Then I met Vince and was happy and comfortable and started eating properly again… then I fell pregnant and had Big L, then I was diagnosed with Crohn’s (yes, yes I know. People with Crohn’s are skinny. They’re not!). Then I had my operations and I couldn’t exercise and the weight piled on. Then I fell pregnant again. Oh and all this time I ate!
This Christmas the scales read 17 stone so I decided, this being my 40th year, to shift my arse into gear. Vince bought me a Garmin Vivosmart hr activity tracker for Christmas which is bloody fab! I walk to and from school which is a mile and a half round trip. I’m tracking my food on my fitness pal which works alongside the Garmin. It really makes you think about what you’re eating and how much exercise you’re doing and the relationship between the two. The first week I lost 6 lbs. This week I’ve either lost a pound or stayed the same. The weather meant I didn’t walk as much and I’ve had a stinking cold, but I know what I’ve got to do and today I’m back on track again.
This time it’s not so much about how I look but about being fit. I’ve got two children to be healthy for. I’m likely to need another operation in the not too distant future so I need to be fit for that as well.
So there we are. If you see me with cake you have permission to smack it out of my hands. If you see me huffing and puffing my way to or from school looking like crap don’t forget I’m trying to get healthy. I’ll keep you posted with my progress (or lack thereof). Wish me luck!