Yep, it happened. And not just for a day, but for half a week. I’m not going to beat around the bush – but I’m also not going to beat myself around the head. I know from experience that yelling at myself, calling myself all sorts of names, feeling like a loser or a failure only sends me down the same emotional path that leads to bad eating and more bad habits. There’s a reason those things became habits in the first place – because I did them so often. So I don’t do that any more. But what do I do now when the wheels fall off? Can somebody hand me a spanner to put them back on? No? (more…)
One of the worst things about having a weight problem is not just society’s inability to understand or appreciate the reality of the problem – but also the medical profession’s general ignorance about how to treat it.
Doctors, for all that they’re well-meaning, can unfortunately, tend to see a series of symptoms, a pathology, rather than a human being with a problem that needs help. I’ve had doctors tell me just to do more exercise, or stop eating fat, or to “just go on a diet”.
Health professionals look at the results of the problem – your increasing girth – rather than the underlying causes. As a result, they usually miss the real triggers, the real causes, and therefore, miss treating the actual things that will make a difference. (more…)
Many years ago, when I first realised that I had to do something about my weight, the only path to action was to talk to my doctor. Alas, doctors back then would just put me on a strictly calorie-controlled diet and I’d lose weight for a few weeks, then put it all back on. I didn’t know any better, so I kept repeating this process, each time expecting a different outcome (which apparently is the first sign of madness!). (more…)
There are few things more painful and less appetising than starting back at exercise classes after what’s been a very long break. Just to qualify here – I’m not the world’s fittest person. I’m not a gym junkie and I don’t run marathons. But I know I feel better when I’m fit, so I exercise as best I can. But that all fell apart towards the end of 2009 when I contracted an illness that kept me from exercising for the best part of 8 months. I recovered okay, but the result was that I’d lost all the fitness I’d had, I’d put on more weight and could barely climb a flight of stairs without huffing and puffing. Something had to be done. Soon. Next week. Or the week after. Or…
They make movies about us and think it’s hilarious that we eat and wear big clothes. Comedians and radio ‘personalities’ find we’re the biggest source of humour because we don’t fight back. When they talk about a large celebrity, the inevitable ‘pig eating’ sound effects emerge in the background, and the entire studio laughs aloud. Fat people are the entertainment subject de jour, and everybody is getting on the bandwagon. All the while, people with weight problems die a little more inside, hating themselves, blaming themselves, and believing all the crap that’s said about them.
So there I was, my head pounding, nose running, chest raspy with a cough that might, given another few heaves, actually remove one of my lungs. I was sick the way only sick people understand, dragging myself out of bed only – and I mean that literally – so that I could go to the doctor and get some drugs to make me better. Nothing else short of a world war would have seen me outside of the bed covers, and even then…