Everyone loves reading weight loss success stories.
We admire and appreciate the determination, dedication and discipline required to lose over 100 lbs.
My own story graced many publications, including this Daily Record feature. In it, I spoke of a fear that haunts me. A fear that I cannot shake and cannot stop thinking about.
That one day I will wake up and I will once again be 354lbs
It would not happen overnight, but my weight would creep up and up and I would contribute to a horrifying weight loss statistic. That only 12-14 percent of those losing over 100lbs maintain that loss.
That is right. Around 85% of the success stories you read about end up with the person regaining most, if not all, of their lost weight.
At this point you would be excused for wondering why, having left behind a depressing past, would anyone allow themselves to regain those lost pounds and reclaim those xl clothes.
Why would someone give up on their future by allowing their past to catch up with them? The answer often lies in the past.
The reason I reached the despairing depths (as opposed to dizzy heights) of morbid obesity was my unhealthy relationship with food and my even unhealthier opinion of myself.
I believed that I was worthless and in addition to excess pounds of fat, I carried too much extra baggage. I was weighed down by self doubt and by deeply buried memories of my childhood. Compared to others, my early life was not that hard and it did not lack love, but it did have an over abundance of fear and the occasional bloody nose and bruised body. I have received some counselling and I have realised that being beaten occasionally has led to a self destructing relationship with food and a downward spiral which saw me eat more, weigh more and hate myself more.
Recently, I have felt undervalued and I have struggled with events outwith my control and some problems that will not go away (especially if I do not meet them head on). I have been beating myself up and I have noticed that I have been medicating with food and mindlessly eating. As I sit here typing, my mind drifts to the the packet of French Fries crisps calling my name from the kitchen cupboard and I believe that I need and want to eat.
And then, I remember that French Fries do not talk and I am not even remotely hungry. I have adopted the habit of having a wee snack (or two or three) late at night while I blog, plan physical activity initiatives (oh, the irony) or watch non-Disney television. It is just a habit. Just like my other habit of having a wee slice (or two or three) of toast to eat when I come home from work. Just like the habit of getting the bus to work when I have been walking to and from work for the past ten months.
I have tried to lead what I think is a normal lifestyle with normal treats and I have forgotten the origin of this blog’s name.
It is not related to running. It refers to my journey. It will never end. Like so many others, I can never slow down and I certainly cannot go into reverse. Every day is a battle, but as a friend just reminded me, every day is an opportunity to be start afresh and to improve on the day before
I will make loving myself my new habit
I refuse to be a statistic. Do you?