Mission: Healthier Liv

'Week One: I can, I will, I promise...'

It's no surprise to anyone that knows me that I've struggled with my weight. For as long as I can remember I've yoyo-ed from relatively chunky to 'no bones' about it - absolutely chunky.

I come from an entire family of fatties. It's a running joke that if we're chunky, we're definitely a 'Crossie'. When the next generation start getting chubby - we act like it's a badge of honour, stamp of approval, DNA confirmed, "one of us".

But the reality is that I also come from a family where premature death, heart disease, type 2 diabetes and various other weight related health issues are a thing. 

The first time I had a surge of motivation strong enough to do something about it was at age 22. I was a size 16, working in catering and making the most of all the freebie food that came with the job. I put on a pair of size 16 work trousers one day in October, 23rd Birthday approaching, and they were really tight. 

On first thought, I imagined I'd pop up to ASDA and buy a bigger size. Size 18. Then I thought about my Mum. A large (though very beautiful) lady - inside and out. I remembered the times she joined (and re-joined) Slimming World in a desperate attempt to lose weight - how weight was a source of embarrassment and unhappiness at various points in her life. I thought of my Dad - type 2 diabetic. I thought of my Aunties, my Sister... all large women struggling with their weight. In that moment I decided I didn't want to be a 20-something year old who creeps up to 20-something stone. I didn't want it to consume me (like the rate I consume cake). I didn't want to eat myself into ill health or an early grave. I wanted to do something about it.

I suppose the catalyst also came from my relationship at the time. I'd been with my now-ex boyfriend for about 10 months at this point. I'd spent time with his family - eaten salads for dinner at his house. Salad for dinner? Salad in my family was something that came with a burger, or occasionally at a rare barbecue event. I'd also watched his Mum do bootcamp every week, his Dad go swimming and him talk about all the sports events him and his Sister were involved in growing up. We didn't even need to run for the ice-cream van growing up, it always stopped right outside our house. Exercise was a regular, normal part of life for them and they were all healthy. His Granddad was in his 90s and still going strong. "I want that lifestyle for myself...and my kids", I thought.

(Sidenote: it might also have been the time his best friend's long term girlfriend told me - after a few too many - that I wasn't what he would 'normally go for' ...and by that she meant 'fat').

So I didn't buy the size 18 or accept my large genes (jeans). I searched local weight-loss support groups and the next day, took myself down to join. I did something about it.

By June 2013 (8 months later), I'd lost 2stone 10.5lbs. I was going to the gym most days and consistently making healthier food choices. I went from just over 13 stone to 10.5 stone. A size almost 18 to a size 12 (10 in some stretchy stuff). Surprisingly, it wasn't the slimmer body that gave me the most satisfaction. It was being able to run 5k comfortably. It was walking into a gym and feeling like I belonged there. It was having energy to run around with neices and nephews and friend's children. It was feeling like a 20-something. Feeling like a 'normal' person. I exercised regularly, I could buy jeans from Topshop. I could look through the rails in Hollister and not feel out of place. I could eat a burger in public without having that voice in my head telling me that people are judging me as a fatty eating a burger. I was just a normal person, eating a burger - in my size 12s. 

In July 2013 I went on my first holiday abroad in years. I wore bikinis and even though I was a bit wobbly still, I felt perfectly fine. Still had sweaty leg chaffe after walking in a dress, mind you. But I didn't feel the need to cover up. 

In September 2013 I went to Uni. I met people with confidence. I wore clothes that made me feel like me. I felt young, and healthy. I wasn't perfect, of course. The stress saw me gain a few pounds here and there. I'd fluctuate around 11st throughout my degree and then over the next few years I'd fluctuate between 11-12st. However, I'd always find the motivation to lose whatever I'd gained again and I was sure that this would be 'who I am' for the rest of my life.

So it pains me to say that I am starting this blog, 8 years later, at the heaviest I have ever been. Ever. (Well, that's a lie. I'm actually 3lbs lighter than I was at Christmas...but still, in comparison to my glory days 8 years ago, I'm the heaviest "ever").

I was knocking on 13st before the pandemic fully hit. My relationship of 8 years ended pretty devastatingly and everything spiralled from there, really. At Christmas-time I weighed in at 14st 9. I'm now 14st 6. 

If I was a boxer, that'd be heavyweight. Super-heavyweight. Without the muscles, or fitness, or a belt that fits. Just super heavyweight fatness, buying belts in plus size stores. Fighting nothing but flailing mental health and self-esteem.

5ft 3 inches, 14 & a half stone. Size 18.

Up until Saturday I really didn't realise just what that looked like. On a plus note, I write this blog with the same motivation I had in October 2012. Hit like a freight train with the reality of my weight. Hit by a 'weight train', if you will.

So, what happened on Saturday?

I went to a friend's wedding. Over the last few weeks I'd already started to make some more sensible choices with my lifestyle. I'd gone to the gym a couple of times for the first time since way before the pandemic. (Huge achievement for me because I have major gym anxiety). I'd started eating regularly and made better choices with food. I was actually feeling pretty good.

I got ready, put on a beautiful dress (size 18 - yep, the size I'd refused to go up to 8 years ago) and felt amazing. I took some selfies out of vanity and posted them to Facebook and Instagram. I felt BEAUTIFUL! It was so nice to dress up and go out after being stuck in through the pandemic. I didn't feel particularly fat and really liked the selfies I'd taken. I had a really lovely time at the wedding - I danced, I had fun.

Then on Sunday I logged into Facebook to see my friends had tagged me in some pictures the night before. And this... this is what hit me...

 

At first I laughed about it. "Look at how round my face is! Look at the shoes buckling under the pressure!". I messaged my friends on group chat joking about my shoes saying, "you're on my foot, fat shit!" (standard Scary Movie quote among my friends).

Then a few moments later, I wept. Properly sobbed. "Do I really look like that? Is that how fat I am?"

I wanted to get into bed and just cry for the rest of the day - maybe eat some crap to feel better. But instead what happened was that motivation that had only been simmering up to that point, bubbled up and erupted.

"F**k this. I'm doing something about it", I said to myself. All of the years of saying to myself, "I've done it before, I can do it again" turned into, "I've done it before and I AM doing it again!"

So on Sunday I went to my favourite dance class at the gym. I stood at the front, right in front of the mirror and I gave it my absolute all. 

Then I recharged my Fitbit (collecting dust in a drawer) and decided I would do at LEAST 10,000 steps every day. At LEAST 30 minutes of activity a day. 

Today is Tuesday and so far I have stuck to my promise. I've discovered workouts on Youtube and am LOVING them. I did 1.5 hours of dancing in my living room yesterday and reached all of my goals. Today I went for an hour long walk (and got absolutely drenched in a thunderstorm). At 8:30pm I realised I'd still only done 7000 steps so decided to do a 20-minute Youtube workout to reach my 10k goal. I did it. 10,603 steps and I'm not in bed yet. Wooo!

It has only been 3 days and already I feel so much more alive. It's only going to feel better and better as time goes on, and more goals are reached.

I am determined not to let this be a short-lived attempt that fizzles out. I've had my fair share of those over the last few years. 

Short term I want to keep up with the exercise goals, but the long term goal is this:

My best friend is getting married on August Bank Holiday next year and I'm one of the bridesmaids. I will NOT be logging into Facebook the next day and crying at the tagged photos. I will be logging in, smiling proudly and thinking, "wow. how amazing do I look in those!"

So... watch this space. I can, I will, I promise...