by Betty Balaba
What muscles were left I could only hope were still in there somewhere, deeply hidden under layers of blubber. Yet despite the aesthetics, this body was strong! It had kept me healthy, given me the energy to take me to the hospital and work, all without collapsing on me! It had taken me through my entire working life without needing one day off for illness. Even with the added weight, all that hadn’t changed. Dare I say it, with the added fat, I felt like it was even stronger! At the very least it was cushioning and insulating my body, so I couldn’t complain.
My weight could never be my identity; any more than losing weight would make my life perfect. I knew that but it would still be the right place to start. I simply had to get on with it. Once Christmas was out of the way, of course.
Chapter 17
Yo-Yoing the Pounds
Christmas was quiet, just my mum and I. It still went by in a blur of eating and recovering on the sofa. New Year was also celebrated with my mum. I say ‘celebrated’ – but I was in bed by six minutes past midnight.
My old school friend Jenny had attempted to get me to go to a swanky New Year house party in Surrey but I simply couldn’t summon up the enthusiasm. I had nothing to wear, wasn’t feeling sociable, and didn’t want to leave my mum by herself. I knew Jenny had a lot of ‘buts’ at the tip of her tongue; but thankfully she spared us both by leaving them there. As my penance for missing the ‘party to end all parties’ – her words – I had agreed to meet her on the second day of the New Year.
It turned out to be a fateful promise as, on the way, I spotted my old crush from the hospital: James Duncan! He was wearing black jeans and a crisp white shirt, crossing the road a little way ahead. Well, the man could do casual just as well as smart. I had never met someone so self-contained and confident and… unobtainable. He was always polite to me – too polite to know if I was even his type. What was his type anyway? He was always friendly though, and not at all dismissive in the way some confident men could be.
Was my new weight a problem for him? I would be surprised if it was; he just didn’t seem that shallow. I’m sure he’d want someone to look after themselves for their health – he was a doctor – but did he want supermodel-thin for the sake of it? My instinct said no.
He was striding like he had somewhere to go urgently, as if he was wearing a do-not-disturb sign. I was not going to bother him. I was crossing a little further down the street… and of course was too distracted to see the van coming. I heard the horn just in time and jumped back. If the doc hadn’t been aware of me before, he certainly was now. Our eyes collided across the expanse of the road, and he waved at me. I waved back enthusiastically. He looked, I think, a little concerned. He gave me a thumbs-up sign which, for want of something better, I returned. He gave me a nod and stepped swiftly into a taxi that had appeared. Pulling the belt of my coat tighter, I headed to the restaurant where I was seeing Jenny.
When I got there, I realised I was shaking slightly. It’s not every day you nearly kill yourself in the presence of the man of your dreams!
The recently opened restaurant looked like the kind of place Jenny loved; minimalist and trendy. Sitting down at the table booked under Jenny’s name, I hoped that this was not one of those places where I needed to have a second lunch later on!
A waiter handed me the menu and lobster ravioli caught my eye. Putting the menu down, I glanced at the other diners. Most of them were, as I suspected, achingly trendy, or ladies who lunched. I knew I did not fit either group. I was wearing leggings with a red shift dress that had bell sleeves. Presentable enough, but not my old self.
Something in the air changed and I knew Jenny must have walked in. She wasn’t famous or anything but people noticed her. She was wearing red-soled boots over tight blue jeans, with a white top under a sheepskin navy gilet. Let us not forget the navy Chanel bag swinging from her shoulder, of course. She approached my table and gave me a big hug. “It’s soooo nice to see you!”
“It’s been a long time!” I squealed back, my face full of sheepskin.
She eventually released me and we sat down. The same waiter who had been too busy rushing around even to ask me for my drink order was now all attentive. He still only gave me cursory interest as I gave him my order. Not exactly rude, but not polite either. I thought I’d better get it over with straightaway.
“So have I put on weight since you last saw me?” Jenny screwed up her face.
“I don’t think so. From your face, definitely not. But you’re wearing a sack, so the rest is a guess!” My mouth fell open.
“What?”
“Look, Becca, it’s a pretty colour. But it’s still a sack!” I frowned and she added “Shapeless,” for good measure. “Okay, stand up,” she said.
“I’m not going to stand up now!” I whispered.
“Who cares? No one’s looking!”
I shrugged then stood up quickly, before sitting down just as fast.
Jenny nodded slowly.
“Now I can see where you’ve put it on. It’s all on your thighs and bum.”
I sank down a little in my chair.
“It’s not a life sentence though! Look at your wrists; they’re still tiny! You can get it off again in no time!”
I glanced at my wrists. She was right: it was the only body part that was still my old size. I looked up at her and she smiled.
“We do like a dainty wrist,” she said encouragingly. I was still chuckling when the food arrived. She was having a Caesar salad. Boring, I thought. But my ravioli bowl soon wiped the smile off my face. I say ravioli: one solitary ravioli with some sauce. Okay, it was a little bigger than the usual size. But this was ridiculous! The waiter hovered, smiling at Jenny who was in turn concentrating on me.
“Yes, please also bring us some fries,” she said, knowing me too well. Jenny started to giggle as he left. “Your face, Becca!” I looked at her and started to laugh too.
“Next time, I am picking the restaurant!” Jenny threw up her hands in defeat. I was tucking into my fries when I piped up between mouthfuls. “I’m thinking of going on a diet… but as hard as I think about it, the weight isn’t shifting!” Her eyes scanned my plate and we both laughed. Straightening up, I looked directly at her. “Seriously, I’m starting a new diet regime on Monday.”
“You said you’d start a regime back on Boxing Day!”
“It went wrong…” We laughed again.
“Well, don’t be one of those people where Monday never comes…”
“No, I definitely will start,”
Jenny sipped her drink for a few seconds.
“If the worst comes to it…” she said, “You can always have lipo.”
I almost choked on my last fry.
“I’m too scared of surgery! And besides, if I sweat to get it off, I won’t allow myself to go back. I’ll definitely get myself on a diet.” I continued.
“Okay,” she said. “And I’m here to cheer you on.”
As we were leaving, she said, “Oh and, watch out for the saboteurs…” I looked at her frowning. “Those people that will bake a cake just for you, while they taste none of it themselves.” I nodded in agreement.
“I’ll steer well clear!”
“Make sure you do.”
With that, we hugged and went our separate ways.
When I got home, I felt hungry but ignored it. A little hunger wouldn’t kill me, especially if a diet really was on the way! This need to always feel full to the brim would have to stop. The TV or a magazine wouldn’t do to distract me, so I thought I would try something different. I listened to a motivational video; not something I would have ever done before but I really was looking for inspiration.
The video said I had to ‘raise my standards’ in life. In what I did, how I behaved, what I expected and how I treated myself. Right. I knew I had to start doing things differently. I wanted to lose all the weight I had put on and get back to the person I was, physically and mentally. Instead of having treats, I would be the ultimate �
�treat’ to myself.
I went through all the Christmas party invitations that were on my desk in my bedroom. There were eight in total from the thickest card to the email invitations. I hadn’t gone to a single one. I had planned to attend a few – but then could not face it and made my excuses. My mum would have been alone and I could probably have gone for a few hours. But I couldn’t face dressing up: it just all felt too much. Was I becoming a couch potato? I hadn’t gone to the medieval banquet either, of course. I wavered then chickened out. I just didn’t have answers to the questions I would be asked.
I put the invitations away and decided that I did not want to feel the same way this year as I had last year; slowly losing my confidence and even my identity. The New Year really was going to be a new me. My Year!
But if things were going to change, I had to make the moves now, or nothing would happen. After staring at myself in the full-length mirror for an uncomfortably long time, I decided that I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to live in this body and would work to finally lose the weight.
Tomorrow was a new day. I would start my diet then. I knew I needed to lose weight, and I also knew I had to do more than just think about it. But where would I start? I had never been on a diet in my life: I had never needed or wanted to. I used to be the woman with a sweet tooth who still managed to have a four pack for goodness sake! Those were the days where I could do a two-minute plank without it killing me. Now, I knew I would struggle to do one for 30 seconds.
I never wanted to live my life weighing and measuring my food. I didn’t know how many calories were in a food item and I was not about to start learning now. There had to be another way to get it done. I had also never deprived myself and I was not going to start doing that now either. But I also knew I had to re-learn moderation. Somehow.
Needing a kick-starter, I went to the Internet to find a diet that would set me on the right road. It turned out that there were so many! The 5:2, the Dukan, the Paleo, the Atkin! Even a Vegan one. But I didn’t end up trying any of these. Instead, I decided to try a more radical option. Two shakes then a meal, Grapefruit diet, Soup diet, not eating after 4… I should have known better but I wanted a quick fix. Unfortunately it ended up being a no fix at all.
*
Soon I was eating only rice on one day and only grapes on another. The deprivation was making me truly hungry. Not simply a bit peckish – but with a knowing constant pang at the pit of my belly. The week continued with a different food on each day. But the weight didn’t come off – and I knew that when it did, it probably wouldn’t stay off. Goodness knows how much nutrition I was even getting. I got tired of this type of eating very quickly.
Then I tried a juice cleanse for seven days. I lasted four but lost a pound, although it gave me tired, sunken-looking eyes. Then I tried to have two smoothies and a meal, made up with too much fruit. That ended up adding four pounds in only four days! I was mortified. Nobody should suffer so much to put on weight!
After yo-yoing pounds, the total weight lost after a month was six pounds. Six pounds! All that, after a month of hell. Obviously it had been more trial than error. The only way I could have made more effort to lose weight would have been to cut off a limb. And so I started to reintroduce exercise. A short daily run around the park, which was a five-minute walk from my mother’s house. I say run but it was more like a speed walk, jogging slowly around one side before walking again. I managed to carry on like that for a full twenty minutes. I was pleased with that! At least I had gone for more than ten minutes. I decided I would build my fitness bit by bit, making steps every day to improve my life and my body. So next I signed up to a pay-as-you-go gym and registered for some classes.
I had always had a lot of energy but soon I was feeling tired: tired of being heavy and not recognising the person I once was. I wanted to go back to how things used to be: how I used to be. I wanted to be the weight my body was meant to be without this constant trying. I did not want to ‘make do’ any longer; it was diminishing me and it had to stop.
So in the next two weeks, I went all out. The first class I went to was called a ‘Barre’ class. A lot of body-stretching that clearly wasn’t made for me.
“You will be long and lean!” The instructor kept saying.
‘When!?’ I kept thinking. ‘And do I have to tear a ligament to get there?’
Most of the class already looked long and lean, of course. I was the biggest person in the class but I was happy to notice that I wasn’t the weakest. I decided I would return once some weight had come off by other means.
So next I tried a yoga class but soon discovered that I wasn’t bendy at all. I was supposed to sit cross-legged. There was no way the ankle of one foot was going to rest on the other thigh. Not unless it was broken, which I trusted wasn’t the idea.
So next I tried something called ‘High Intensity Interval Training’. Before I knew it, I was on the rowing machine as if my life depended on it. We were doing circuits but I was acting like this was going to be my only exercise. I was one step away from fainting. Hearing the instructor’s booming voice, I had to smile.
“This is a HITT class!” he boomed. “For those who are not sure, that means High Intensity Interval Training. If you want to carry on moving like that, then go and do yoga! The clue is in the name, people. High Intensity!”
Miracle of miracles, I seemed to be keeping up! My body – as big as I felt it was – hadn’t let me down after all. I was a lot stronger than I thought.
Only once the class was over I realised that I was covered in sweat. My top was soaked. They say only horses sweat – well in that case, I was a thoroughbred! At least I wasn’t too far from the house; I could go home and shower there, rather than exposing myself in the gym.
I walked out into the sunlight from the studio. Trying to gather my strength, I almost walked straight into a lady standing on the pavement, holding a large circular tray. She pushed the tray in front of me. I smelt them before I saw them; freshly baked muffins.
“Would you like to try some samples?” I slowed my steps, and she continued. “They are gluten and diary free.”
Looking straight at her, I countered: “Are they weight-gain free?” She paused and then laughed. I shook my head and waved at her as I strode by. Goodness, a cake shop opening three doors from the gym! What are the chances! It was as if my willpower was winking at me.
Freshly showered, I flicked through my phone and came to the picture Sophie had taken of me near Christmas. I know they say the camera never lies, but my goodness! I looked like I had eaten a full bakery’s worth of food single-handedly.
I kept going through Christmas pictures my mother had taken; mainly me wearing a lop-sided hat, and unwrapping my presents. Then I came to the first photo Sophie had taken of me in the office when she said I was reed-thin. The two pictures stared back at me, telling the whole story.
There was a sadness there that could not be hidden. I looked at least six years older than I was: the camera never lies, indeed. But in the first picture I was laughing and the camera captured my joy. I was slim and toned to within an inch of my life. I had a flat stomach that I had taken for granted and arms that were a topic of conversation by themselves.
It was difficult to believe that these two pictures were of the same woman; and that this woman was me. And the photos were taken just ten months apart! I had continually put myself at the end of an ever-growing list of priorities. Somehow, I had forgotten who I was and had buried myself under layers of fat. The pictures told me who I had been at a moment in time and what had happened in between. I knew it would be a battle to get back to myself and finding again the joy and inner glow. I was determined to do it.
*
One day, after I had been for my daily run, my mother’s neighbour saw me approaching the house. Maggie was her name; a lovely retired teacher who had moved in a year ago. That meant she had never seen me slim.
“Do not go too far, love,” she said, as I stoppe
d for a rest. “You do not want to get too thin!”
As Sophie would say ‘chance would be a fine thing.’
“No chance of that!” I gasped.
“Good! Some of these girls do not look healthy at all.”
Bless her! “I’m just trying to get a little fitter.”
As if to hammer her point home, she baked something and brought it over later that afternoon.
“Hi Maggie!” I said with dread. She handed over a tin foil covered plate.
“Hi again! Just a thought… for you and your mum.”
“Thanks. You shouldn’t have…” I really meant it.
“Enjoy.”
Off she went, leaving me holding the tray. I could smell the chocolate. My mother was diabetic: it definitely couldn’t be for her. But was it for me? Once I got inside the kitchen, I took off the foil and saw a home-baked chocolate fudge cake. It would be rude not to taste even a small slice, wouldn’t it?
Half a cake later, I put the rest in the fridge. Now it was time for something radical. Losing six pounds was great, but I wanted to step things up so that I could stay focused without food distractions. Through my research, I knew there were fitness boot camps. I knew that this was what I had to do. What was one week of my life after all, when it might be a leap forward in progress? That was the mind-set I needed, and I was now finally ready to make the shift.
Chapter 18
Boot Camp
I felt like camp was going to be my Yellow Brick Road, setting me on the path to good things. Well, so I hoped. It turned out to be in the Chiltern Hills, on what looked like a pretty old farm. The taxi from the station took me past fields and hills. I felt far from London, hoping all this fresh air wasn’t going to bamboozle my lungs when the exercise hit.
Stepping out of the taxi, I was greeted by a large farmhouse. Going in, I heaved a sigh of relief. It was modern! The kitchen alone was bigger than two rooms in my flat. Wooden floors and beams everywhere; big, but cosy. Not having known what to expect, I was grateful that this side of it at least wasn’t a case of back to basics.