Hello all!
I always have the best of intentions to update this blog weekly, bi-weekly but then get distracted and find it's been 2 and a half years since I last wrote on here. Maybe, if I had written more often, I'd have stayed on track... maybe not!
In my previous post, I wrote of how I was going to do a half marathon and be amazing blah blah blah... but actually, I did all that! I trained hard, I got down to 12 stone 10 (178lb) the lightest and healthiest I'd been since I was about 15. I still felt 'fat' and unhealthy, I'm not sure when I would have felt 'good' or 'pretty' or 'popular.' I definitely felt strong though, and motivated, and more confident, and like I would never go back to how I'd been before.
Today is October 4th 2017, 2 years exactly to the date I ran my half marathon. Up to my half, I had completed a 5km race and 2 x 10km races. Always the slowest in comparison to other people. (Actually coming last of the finishers on the 2nd of those 10km races... thank goodness for Christopher Biggins being at the end of that to congratulate the finishers!) Despite being the slowest, or last to cross that finish line, I was only ever racing with myself, trying to get a new personal best. I loved it. I loved the feeling of seeing that finish line, knowing I had beaten the old me and the me from weeks before, and that it could only carry on like that. The world was my oyster. I felt more positive about life in general, and found a belief in myself and my ability to suceed at whatever I put my mind to.
However, on the day of the half marathon, I had been feeling ill for weeks. I thought it was just exhaustion from all the running and knew I'd have a couple of weeks after the race to go back home to my family and no more upcoming races. It would all be fine, if I could just make it to the finish in 13.1 miles, in a time I could be happy with. It didn't quite work out as planned.
About 3km into the run, I started to really start feeling drained and just couldn't find my stride at all. A few more kmand I just couldn't get my pace, or find the 'zone.' By the time I had done 10 of 21km, I'd already started walking. I just couldn't do it. I cried whilst I walked, and pushed myself to run when I could, and rang my sister who had already finished the race way ahead of me (she's always ran and been a healthy weight), who told me to just do my best and finish strong. I ran the final 2.5km and finished in a time of around 3 and a half hours. I was devastated. I felt I had let myself down and crossed the finish line inconsolably crying.
A week later and I was still really unwell. I was hullucinating, barely able to stay awake and passed out on multiple occasions whilst working in the office alone. I was supposed to be going to Spain for a few days but decided to go back to my dads instead and try to recoup, still blaming my training and running as a fat person as the reason. When I got back to my dad's I started being sick and that was the final straw... we went to A and E, where I remained for the next 10 days. It turns out I was actually very unwell and the running, and being busy, hadn't had anything to do with it, but probably hadn't helped. I had glandular fever, which had lead to my spleen all but shutting down, in turn putting pressure on my liver to try harder, which it was struggling to do and had become inflamed to a point that it wasn't doing a great job either. My body was failing me, after all the months of improving it and feeding it the right sorts of foods, it hadn't made any difference at all... if anything I was more ill than I had ever been before.
I was released from hospital 10 days later with a sick note for the next 3 weeks, and within that time the company I was working for made the decision to close, so when I finally went back to work I didn't have the time to go back to my old routine. My time was now filled with helping with the end of the current company, working out if I could set up my own company alone at 25 years old, and meeting after meeting to try and make that happen. It's funny really because if in that position now, I'm not sure I would have the bravado to make the same decisions, or the confidence in my own abilities to be sure it would be the right path for me. Alas, I did set up on my own from December 2015 and am still going now, nearly 2 years on, so that woman obviously knew something then that I seem to have forgotten about now, and wish I could find again.
In the decision to set up my business I also decided it made sense to move back in with my dad, for financial and also sanity reasons, in addition to still being wiped out by the glandular fever. This change of routine and the illness had really knocked me from my routine, and I think in the move home I just turned back into the kid I always had been. Not bothered particularly to get out of my warm bed, why did I need to when my meals were now made for me and all my work could be done from the comfort of my bed on my laptop?
In the April of 2016, I met a very lovely boy, and after 2 dates we decided to enter into a relationship, all very romantic... maybe I'll do a separate post about that, but it was obviously right as we are in fact still in love and together! Then contentness, mixed with laziness and too many meals out, plus too much work and no exercise particularly to speak of, and it's led me to here... 17 stone 8lb... nearly 5 stone heavier than what I was when I got ill/moved home/set up my business/ ran the half marathon.
I feel tired and sick, all day everyday. I don't want to particularly leave the house, or my partner to touch me, or even to get out of bed most days. Nothing fits, I'm buying clothes bigger than I've ever had to before, this is the heaviest I have ever been, yet I still can't find the motivation to really care or make too big a change to my life...
However, I decided to make one change and stick with it. I joined a running club on 11th September 2017 for beginners. It's a twice weekly club for around an hour, and in the first week I came home on the verge of tears because I struggled with running for one minute. Where had I gone wrong? Where was the me I loved gone? Why hadn't I taken action earlier to remedy the issue? I'd loved running, why did I stop for so long?
Last week though, in week 3, I was doing my homework session with the boyfriend and had to run 3 minutes, walk 3 minutes. At the end of the session I was still not home, and made a decision to just see how close I could get to home before I gave in, or something failed me in myself whether it be legs, lungs, or mindset. I found my pace. It was on... I ran for a full 12 minutes! If I could have made myself a full scale trophy, I bloody would have. I was so so happy with my progress in such a short space of time. So I'm remembering that feeling and trying to carry it through with me to push me further and faster and motivate me to keep on.
I need to remember that it's taken me 2 years to get back to this person I don't like being, so it's going to take me as long, if not longer, to get back to the girl I always still thought was fat and ugly, but believe me, I'd much rather be the me 2 years ago, than the me now. She may have struggled but she had strength and determination and passion for life.
Whoever says losing weight is as easy as eating less and moving more, doesn't understand the real struggles of it. It's definitely more of a mindset than a logical step, and I'm really hoping that this is my mind set shift, and writing in here again will keep me on track. Weight loss is a struggle, don't believe everything you read and see on social media. You don't see the people behind the photos slogging their guts out for 2 hours before work every day for that 'perfect' body; or the girls who have come so far only to still think it's not good enough.
I hope I'm going to be good enough. I hope I'm going to be able to do this once and for all.
Fingers crossed!
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