From Obese at 25 to Strong Being the New Skinny...

Hi all,

So, where to start? I joined MFP as a friend of mine is also a member and me being curious, I decided to sneak a peek. And I definitely liked what I saw, so here I am.

My story begins in 2010, when I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (no great surprise to me; the hair loss, hair where it shouldn't be and general rubbish that accompanies it led me to that conclusion).

But never mind the odd hair that could be tweezed and the PMT, it was the fact that I was losing my hair had me all in a tizz. My long, blonde security blanket was coming out. The same hair I’d hidden behind for so many years; comforting myself that if it was a ‘fat day’ at least it would be a good hair day. And all of a sudden, I didn’t have that guarantee. So, if I was losing my best feature, a good idea to make my body a better one, yes?

Shallow? Perhaps. But it was the kick up the bum that I needed. Years – and I mean years; I’d been unhappy with my weight since I was six – of hating what I saw in the mirror; years of being shy; years of comparing myself with other girls. Years of being held back by my weight, years of going into the sea with a baggy t-shirt on, years of being ‘the fat one’ out of my friends. Years of knowing that men were talking to me purely to kill time to get to my slimmer, sexier galpal.

So I joined a gym. All 16 stone (224lb) of me. And believe me, it was bloody hard. I would watch the depressingly slow calorie counter on the treadmill, look at my sweaty tomato face in the mirror, nearly weep as I munched on yet ANOTHER salad as my natural slim friends tucked into steaming bowls of pasta.

Oh yes, food. The longest loving relationship I’ve ever had, and she’s a cruel mistress. I bloody love food. Doughy sandwiches, creamy pastas, hunking great stews topped with a flirtatiously crumbly pastry lid (yeah, can’t you tell it’s lunchtime as I write this?). But I had to have a trial separation from my foodie love, my toxic relationship with it. So, out with the frankly ludicrous portions and binge-eating habit (something I’d done since I was 11), and in with the sensible ‘in moderation’ eating plan. Hard, indeed. But Keep Calm and Carry On and all that.

But, but! The needle on the scale started moving left for what might have been the first time in my life, nasty stomach upsets aside. My clothes started feeling looser. I admit, the “have you lost weight?” comments came depressingly slowly (about two stone/28lbs in), but once they did, I felt like I was walking on air.

And, more importantly, I started to stop feeling like I was going to collapse if I ran for a bus. I could see my biceps. I started attending zumba (and, truth me told, last night a Beto saved my life) and throwing kettlebells around and found my niche: the evasive Enjoyable Exercise.

Long story short, I’ve lost the best part of six stone (84lb). I’m not quite on target yet (10 stone/140lb), but I’m in the healthy BMI.

Oh yeah, that reminds me. Healthy. I’ll freely admit that when I started hauling my backside to the gym and putting down the fork, I was doing it to be thin. Something I’d not been since I emerged triumphant from my mother. I wanted to be a ‘thin girl’, someone people envied. Pretty awful, isn’t it? What a negative aim.

Now? I’m the same weight that I was when I was 10 years old (more through me being a fat 10-year-old than a thin 27-year-old!). But the number on the scale, or indeed on the label of my dress, is hardly relevant compared to my health.

I care more about the number on the kettlebell I’m lifting; about my resting heart rate. I feel capable and resilient: Strong Is The New Skinny and all that. I have given myself a deadline of the end of this year to qualify as a zumba instructor, and 2010 Me is choking on her lunch laughing.

Part of my reason for joining MFP was for support. Sounds sort of daft when you think the lion’s share is done now, I know. But that’s not the point. Yes, I’ve still got a little bit to go (and we all know the last bit is the hardest to shift). But it’s the mental shift that I’m finding it trickiest to deal with.

In essence, my brain hasn’t caught up with my body. My hand still reaches for the wrong size of clothes; I still sometimes find myself defaulting to ‘Shy Fat Girl’ in social circumstances. I am quite obsessive about the changes (say hello, fellow control freaks!); going from having no control over food to sometimes being a little mindful. Exercising hard six days a week.

Now, those latter two points are much more positive than the habits I had previously. But I have to keep them in check, largely because neither extreme is healthy.

The really hard part is done. I can look back on that and tick the box. But now, the unknown of maintenance, control, and a lifetime change?

Yeah, colour me nervous!

*looks at word count* Blimey, that was a bit of an epic, wasn’t it? If I see a lot of TL;DR responses I wouldn’t blame you…but thank you in advance for reading, and I’m looking forward to exploring this site 

Natalie x