Today I decided to start. I’d been thinking about it for a while. So many things in my life have always got in the way; work, kids, husband, no husband, no work. You name it, I’ve used it as an excuse for sitting on my fat bum, binging on food and Netflix.
So…I ran. Not far. Not fast. But I ran.
It hurt; but not as much as I expected it to. It was embarrassing; but less so in the dark. It was oddly liberating.
I haven’t run since I was in the hockey team at school. I’m 40 now, so it was quite a while ago.
I’ve been walking with my dog for a few months. My fitness has increased in that time. Unfortunately so has my body size. I take a variety of medication for various health conditions. I think the pills I started on before Christmas for pain, have contributed to me putting on weight. But to be fair and honest, I’ve found myself secretly eating.
When there is nobody around, I’ll eat a bar of chocolate. Or sneak something I shouldn’t into my room. I realised how bad it was when I ‘found’ that I’d eaten 2 tubes of Pringles, to myself, in the space of 12 hours and had to hide the evidence from my boyfriend. I say ‘found’, because I hadn’t noticed that I’d done it. Obviously I knew I’d bought them. But I hadn’t noticed how many I’d stuffed into my mouth whilst watching the telly. It suddenly hit me when I saw the two empty tubes on my bedside table. What a fat cow!
So that was it. The last straw – or at least the last Pringle.