2101: Things I Couldn’t Do

I lost another three and a half pounds this week, bringing my total weight loss since the very end of January this year to five stone and six pounds — nearly five and a half stone. I may not be the sort of person who is particularly good at showing genuine-seeming excitement when speaking in person, but believe me, I’m pretty much ecstatic about this — though I have no intention of stopping here, as the initial “target” I set is still a little way off.

Back when I decided to start losing weight with Slimming World at the end of January, I was just under 23 stone. That is, quite obviously, Too Heavy. I’d always been aware I was overweight — particularly when arseholes in the street would make some off-colour fat joke in my direction — but towards the start of the year, I’d started to become somewhat conscious that more than just being roly-poly and jolly, things might actually have started becoming a bit of a problem.

I could tell this in a number of ways. Firstly and most obviously was the fact that I was terrified to know my actual weight. I wouldn’t get on scales, I wouldn’t even contemplate it. I just knew that I was too heavy, and I wouldn’t tell anyone even what I thought I weighed. The most difficult part of attending my first Slimming World meeting was knowing that I’d find out exactly how much I weighed — and, to be perfectly honest, it was actually a little worse than I thought it was, since I’d silently estimated myself around the 20 stone mark for a while.

Secondly, I was extremely uncomfortable all the time. The chairs I sat in at the job I was working at at the time felt like they were too small for me, but I stubbornly refused to order a “special chair” like the one provided for the resident fat bloke in our department — who was considerably larger than me, even — because that felt humiliating. I was terrified of the prospect of going abroad ever again, because I didn’t want to be one of the people who had to ask for a seat belt extension — that felt like it would be humiliating too. And I was still carrying around painful memories of the time Andie took me to Alton Towers for what should have been a really nice weekend — and was, for the most part — but which had at least part of it that felt utterly mortifying.

Thirdly, and somewhat related to the Alton Towers story, there were things that I felt like I simply couldn’t do any more. I didn’t go along to a significant part of a close friend’s stag weekend because it involved doing stuff at Go Ape and riding Segways, and a bit of research beforehand indicated that I would probably be too heavy for both of those things. So instead I just joined the group for the evening’s activities. I didn’t feel like I could climb a ladder because I was scared it would break; I didn’t feel I could even do basic do-it-yourself around the house that involved using a stepladder because there was a prominent notice on it indicating a maximum recommended weight that was significantly below what I actually weighed; I didn’t feel safe standing on anything that was off the ground, in fact, even if it was quite obviously designed to hold up things considerably heavier than one miserable, overweight thirtysomething.

In short, I was utterly miserable, and I knew it was my own fault for not taking better care of myself. I’d eat crap day in, day out, kidding myself that I wasn’t having much junk, just an occasional treat; I’d deal with emotional episodes by eating because I felt like I “deserved” something nice; sometimes I’d just eat because I was bored, and I felt like eating something sweet might relieve that boredom.

I knew all these things before I started Slimming World. What I wasn’t prepared for was how surprisingly easy it ended up being to change those habits — and what an immediate impact it would have on both my physical and mental wellbeing. I lost eight pounds in my first week on the programme, and have seen fairly consistent losses (albeit somewhat smaller ones!) ever since. I feel happier and more confident in myself; I don’t feel ashamed when I see myself in the mirror any more — sometimes I actually quite like what I see, as narcissistic as that might sound — and while I’m still uneasy to do some things such as climbing ladders, I know that even if I’m still not quite 100% at a stage where I can live life “normally”, I am on the right track and that I will get there eventually, at least so far as my physical wellbeing goes. My mental health is, of course, another matter, but that’s a whole other set of things to deal with that I’m not sure how to even start tackling just yet.

I’ve found myself thinking about the future a bit since seeing my progress. Not in a particularly grand way or anything — just thinking about the things that I wouldn’t have been able to do at the start of this year (such as those mentioned above) that I would be able to now. Andie and I are having a belated “honeymoon” at Center Parcs at the very end of November, for example, and I know that everything about that holiday is going to be much more comfortable and enjoyable for me than the last time we went. (Not that I didn’t enjoy last time, mind you; it was just physically exhausting to lug myself around.)

And I feel like it would be something of a symbolic “victory” for me if, once I reach my target (or perhaps even go beyond it if I feel like I want to go further), I return to Alton Towers and comfortably hop onto all the rides that I simply wasn’t able to physically fit onto the last time I went. I don’t feel I’m quite ready for that just yet, but it won’t be that long now if I carry on at the rate I’m going. And that’s a good feeling; there are many things in life that it’s impossible to “take back”, but thankfully the mistakes I’ve made with my body and my habits don’t appear to be counted in that category.