by Tom Watson
I had developed a deep-seated fear of letting myself go and, because of this, most evenings I must have been duller than ditchwater. Siobhan and her parents had the good grace to avoid making this an issue, though, but as the week went by I think they probably missed the old Tom, that party-loving bon viveur who liked a drink, a song and a slice (or six) of pizza.
Back home in the UK, my obsessive behaviour began to irritate my good pal David, too. While he’d been extremely supportive in the past (‘It’s amazing what you’ve done, Tom, you’re just like a normal fat bloke, now,’ he’d said in his broad West Yorkshire accent when I’d lost that first 50lb or 23 kilos), I think my born-again health and fitness fixation soon became a little wearing. During our walks around Kennington Park he’d raise his eyes skywards as I eulogised about a book I’d read, or a podcast I’d found, and would often pointedly ignore me or tetchily change the subject.
‘Honestly, David, you’ve got to check out this link,’ I’d say. ‘It’ll blow your mind.’
‘I don’t need to check it out, Tom,’ he’d wearily reply. ‘You’ve told me twice already.’
David may disagree, but I think the dynamics between us began to change when I overtook him, weight-wise. I had always been the Ollie to his Stan, the Large to his Little, and when I finally became lighter than him, effectively passing him on the way down, I sensed some friction between us. Our trips to the pub soon became fewer and further between (especially when I started to resist the temptation of downing pints as a reward for a fitness goal) and, as we sensed ourselves drifting apart, we soon stopped walking together.
Much of the blame probably lay with me. Having restored my health and reclaimed my mojo, I’d probably become a little self-absorbed and had no doubt bored my mate into submission. But this particular predicament also demonstrated how relationships could change and evolve following a major life event, be that marriage, divorce, illness, childbirth or, yes, even weight loss. It was inevitable, I suppose, that my friendship dynamics would shift, and that my social diary would shrink. Going out for beer, curry and a late-night karaoke session with my mates Kevin Brennan, Ian Lucas and Michael Dugher – known in parliamentary circles as ‘the choir’ – soon became a thing of the past, and I also found myself declining invitations to various parties and gatherings.
Perhaps a pared-down social life was unavoidable in my circumstances. Looking back, if there was any downside to my personal health journey, this was probably it.
During the summer of 2018 I began to consider the prospect of going public about my type 2 diabetes. My thinking was largely prompted by a meeting I had with a man called Dan Parker who worked in partnership with Jamie Oliver’s organisation, helping to promote its healthy eating campaign for children. He happened to mention that he was a type 2 diabetic – I chose not to divulge my own diagnosis – and we struck up a conversation about the perils of the sugar economy. The sugar tax had been implemented earlier that year (the only good thing George Osborne ever did as chancellor of the exchequer) and I was becoming increasingly interested in challenging ‘Big Sugar’ interests. Dan proceeded to tell me his own T2D story, explaining how his illness caused him much embarrassment – he often felt like a failure – and how he reckoned he wasn’t alone in that respect.
‘In a room full of a hundred people, maybe ten to fifteen per cent of them will have type 2 diabetes,’ he said. ‘Ask those people to raise their hand, and only one or two people will, because the others feel so damned ashamed.’
As far as Dan was concerned, this stigma prevailed throughout society. T2D was a badge of guilt, almost, and in order to rectify this, and to help people address and improve their condition, much more openness and awareness was required.
His remarks played on my mind for weeks – I too had suffered those same feelings of shame and isolation – and I soon concluded that it was time for me to speak openly and publicly about my health journey. I worked with my Westminster team to locate a suitable occasion and, with this in mind, we set up a meeting with ukactive, a not-for-profit organisation that existed to improve the health of the nation through fitness and movement. They were intrigued to hear my story and very kindly invited me to speak at their national summit, scheduled for 12 September 2018. My colleagues and I then began the creative process of writing a speech. Usually a speech involves a three-way collaboration between myself and my press team, who ensure the right number of media hooks, and my policy team, who try to make it strategy-rich. However, since this particular speech was intensely personal, I wrote most of it myself, and wrote it from the heart.
My press officer, Sarah Coombes, formulated a comprehensive PR strategy to accompany my announcement. Throughout the morning I would attend a number of radio, television and newspaper interviews, including a primetime slot on ITV’s Good Morning Britain. I knew for a fact that many Westminster politicians disliked appearing on GMB, fearing the programme’s notoriously tough interviews. The combative Piers Morgan and the forensic Susanna Reid were indeed a formidable duo – I’d seen many a guest shrink as they received a breakfast-time grilling – but I’d always enjoyed the experience. I liked sparring with Piers, and I admired Susanna’s incisive line of questioning.
I awoke at 4.30 that morning, and within the hour a GMB car had dropped me off at their White City studios. I walked into the make-up room, and received a warm welcome from Piers, Susanna and the production team.
‘Bloody hell, Tom, you’re half the man you used to be,’ said Piers, grinning. ‘Fair play to you, sir.’
‘Cheers, Piers,’ I replied.
I went on air at 7.30 a.m., and Susanna opened the interview by expressing her astonishment at my weight loss.
‘It’s remarkable,’ she said. ‘Your physical presence has changed. Seven stone is a massive amount to lose. How have you done it?’
‘Well, I really did it by completely changing my diet,’ I replied. ‘I cut out all refined sugar and high-sugar foods, and then I started exercising. There’s no secret code.’
I told Susanna how I considered myself a reformed sugar addict, and how I’d come to realise that my entire diet had been based around grazing on sweet things. Sugar addiction was a real illness, I said, and it was one of the reasons why the country was facing a huge obesity crisis.
‘I started like everyone else, a middle-aged guy in his fifties, trying to get the weight off, and at my biggest I was twenty-two stone,’ I added. ‘I read the work of Dr Michael Mosley, and then I read The Pioppi Diet, and they both were, in many senses, contradicting the advice we’re given by health experts in government. So I then read the footnotes, and read all the scientific papers, because I needed to understand what was going on with my own body.’
Piers then quizzed me about my exercise regime, and I responded by saying that, despite physical activity being an instrumental part of my turnaround, the most important factor had been my diet.
‘When guys get really overweight and decide to attack it, the first thing they do is join a gym, and they never sort their nutrition out,’ I said. ‘I would say to people, if you don’t sort your nutrition out, there’s virtually no point in doing exercise.’
‘Abs are made in the kitchen,’ said Susanna with a wink.
‘I can’t quite see my abs yet.’ I laughed.
A producer then entered the studio carrying a tray of Bulletproof Coffees (the genuine article, nothing like the BBC aberration), which prompted Piers to switch into rant mode.
‘Here’s this infamous thing that you’ve revealed that you take, and that you swear by. I’ve got to say it looks disgusting,’ he sneered, before taking a sip. ‘OK, it tastes like a creamy lattè, but what is the point of Bulletproof Coffee?’
I told him that, in the early days, slightly upping my fat intake had helped me to quell my sugar cravings and that a cup of the stuff could often see me through until lunchtime. That seemed to answer his question, because the conversation swiftly turned to my day job. Piers demanded my views o
n the Labour Party’s Brexit proposals, accusing my fellow colleagues of a lack of clarity and condemning us for apparently sitting on the fence. Things got a bit testy and ill-tempered as I attempted to argue our cause.
‘Perhaps you’re the wrong guy to use this phrase with, Tom, but that’s like having your cake and eating it,’ yelled Piers. ‘You probably haven’t had cake in a year.’
‘You can get as angry as you want about it,’ I retorted. ‘Maybe you should try taking less sugar in your Bulletproof Coffee.’
Like I said, I enjoyed the occasional duel with Piers.
There was one question, though, that Susanna had been dying to ask me, but had dared not address while we were on air. She hadn’t been the first person to pose it; it was a topic that had aroused the interest of others, too.
‘Not wishing to sound rude, Tom, but do you have saggy skin?’ she’d whispered during an advert break. ‘It can be one of the downsides of rapid weight loss, can’t it?’
‘It can,’ I replied, unperturbed, ‘but I’ve been pretty lucky in that respect.’
I told her that, while I didn’t possess a defined chest or a washboard stomach (there’d always be a certain amount of middle-age padding), at the same time I didn’t have rolls of skin hanging off me. Perhaps my skin elasticity was in the genes, I suggested, although there may well have been other factors. I had read somewhere that rubbing a magnesium-based cream supplement into your skin could be advantageous, so I’d given that a try, and I’d also listened with interest to a Dr Jason Fung podcast that highlighted the potential benefits of intermittent fasting in this regard. Fasting apparently helped to promote a condition called autophagy (which involved the body flushing out damaged cells before renewing healthy cells) and many of Dr Fung’s patients who’d pursued that route had tended to avoid excess skin issues.
‘I occasionally tried that as well,’ I explained to Susanna, ‘although I can’t be totally sure that it made any difference.’
‘Thank you for answering my very cheeky question,’ she said, smiling, as the ad break finished and the cameras began to roll again.
Later that afternoon, at Westminster’s Queen Elizabeth II conference centre, I stood at the lectern, ready to deliver my keynote speech at the ukactive summit. Sitting behind me on the stage were Dame Tanni Grey-Thompson, the former Paralympian and chair of the organisation, and Andrew Lansley, the former health secretary who’d once governed – or should that be tried to govern – the NHS. Facing me in the auditorium were hundreds of the UK’s finest fitness professionals, most of whom would have known what a health journey looked like, and would have worked with plenty of fat, fifty-something blokes like me in their gyms.
In my line of work I’d attended hundreds of speaking engagements, but this time around I felt unusually nervous, and quite vulnerable. That morning I’d opened up about my weight-loss journey on Good Morning Britain but here, on this public platform, before an audience of strangers, I was about to reveal for the first time the full extent of my illness.
‘Since last summer, I’ve lost ninety-nine pounds in weight. The pounds have flown off me almost as quickly as they’ve flown off local government public health budgets,’ I said, as I imagined Mr Andrew Lansley giving me the side-eye.
‘There was a personal reason why I realised I had to take action with my own health, though,’ I continued. ‘I was diagnosed a few years back with type 2 diabetes. I’m not unusual. There are 3.8 million adults in the UK with diabetes, 90 per cent of them with type 2, which is more than twice as many as there were twenty years ago.
‘But I’m pleased and very relieved to say that, thanks to a quite radical change of diet and behaviour – not just exercising more, but eradicating ultra-processed food, fast food, starchy carbs and refined sugar – my own type 2 diabetes is in remission. I am no longer taking medication for it, and I feel absolutely fantastic.
‘But what I know now, that I didn’t know when I was first diagnosed, is that type 2 diabetes can be prevented. I’m living proof that it can be put into remission, and that’s my central message today. We have to get better as a country at doing both: prevention and remission. Yet too many people today have no clue that their condition can be beaten, and I’d like to send a simple message to all the other type 2 diabetes sufferers, all three million of them. I believe in remission for all. The vast majority of those people with type 2 diabetes can get off their medication with the right combination of nutrition and exercise, and that’s the task for all of us in this room. If they do, they will live longer and more fulfilling lives.’
I then suggested a few tweaks to the government’s public health policy – irking Mr Andrew Lansley, no doubt – before bringing my speech to a close by praising the good work of ukactive, and by pledging my ongoing support.
The reception I received was heartening – the applause from these top-notch professionals meant a great deal – and afterwards I was approached by a string of delegates offering me their thanks and good wishes.
‘Thank you, Tom,’ said a leisure manager from Greater Manchester who came over to shake my hand. ‘We see lots of success stories in our jobs, but it’s always great when someone in the public eye can share their own positive experience. Raising awareness like this can have such a huge impact, and can really help to inspire others.’
‘Well, you never know, maybe one day I could train up to become a gym instructor in my spare time,’ I said, grinning.
He perked up at this, telling me that the industry recognised that there was a dearth of instructors of a ‘certain age’ who could offer well-placed advice and genuine empathy to fellow forty- and fifty-something gym-goers. With this in mind, organisations needed to provide a more inclusive and understanding environment, and as such needed to recruit staff from all age ranges.
Mmm, I thought. I quite like the idea of that.
When I returned to my Westminster office I was greeted by my press officer, Sarah, who’d been tasked with monitoring my social media throughout the day. She had also posted up a short video on Twitter and Facebook that outlined my new mission to help others and reiterated the Labour Party’s commitment to halting the alarming rise of type 2 diabetes.
‘Tom, it’s gone absolutely crazy,’ she said. ‘Over two thousand retweets on Twitter, ten thousand likes, and hundreds of responses on the Facebook page. Come and have a look.’
I leaned over her computer and scrolled through the tweets:
@tom_watson Great campaign. Importantly, it acknowledges that it’s not just the fault of the individual. We’re all being lied to by the food industry, there should be much tighter regulation on how much sugar is put in foods, how it’s marketed.
@tom_watson Low carbohydrate is what countless cardiologists and doctors have been advocating for many, many years and yet the naysayers are doing their best to ‘prove’ them wrong. Long live the movement for cutting down on starchy and sugary carbs. Well done Tom
@tom_watson Well done on your progress against diabetes Tom, and I wish you all the very best for the future, including, I hope, in government promoting this health message in a way that has been sadly absent under the current administration.
@tom_watson You are an inspirational role model & superb example of how we can change our habits, our lives and our health for the better. Thank you & very well done.
@tom_watson With you all the way on this. There needs to be government intervention on the disproportionately high cost and limited availability of fresh foods, funded by a tax on sugar and multinationals that profit from junk food.
@tom_watson Well done, that’s fantastic. As a food teacher I spend a lot of time teaching about healthy eating and teaching healthy recipes, hopefully together we can help with improving the health of the nation.
@tom_watson When you increase your intake of healthy fats and lower your carbs (from my experience) the cravings subside. It does take discipline and a proactive approach to your health and longevity. I’m proof, along with Tom
, that it works.
Some of them raised a smile, too:
@tom_watson Quite astonishing how much you now resemble Eddie Mair.
@tom_watson Oh great. Now I’ll never be able to tell him and Elvis Costello apart.
@tom_watson You can legitimately wear Fred Perry polos again.
Over on Facebook, the positive (and not-so-positive) comments rained in, too:
I lost 4.5st cutting out processed sugars and doing moderate exercise. Good luck with your mission, people don’t realise it’s an addictive substance until they try and come off it…
Saw you on GMB this morning. Inspirational! Great to hear your views about sugar addiction too. Have a feeling I’d find it hard to wean myself off it! People don’t realise how addictive it is.
Big congrats Tom, I’ve been on a similar journey. Odd how things stick in the mind, my happiest time was being able to buy a suit from M&S rather the local big man’s shop!
I did it that way too. Lost 7 stones and I am off medication and in a normal blood range. All within 18 months. It’s great to see someone speak up about it. Well done.
A great role model for men of a certain age and shape. Well done!
Tom, you have lost more than my wife weighs! Congratulations and I applaud your campaign.
Dear Tom – I’m a Conservative through and through, but am just coming here in the spirit of doing something different on Facebook than attack the other side. I really salute your efforts and dedication to your health and well-being – it’s really inspirational and I hope a great example of what can be achieved. All the best to you.