100 Days

Tomorrow, it’s 100 days til I turn 45

A few weeks ago, I realised that if I'm lucky enough to make it to 90, then I'm about to hit the halfway point in my life, and that thought has been scaring the shit out of me ever since.

Halfway.

Forty-five doesn't actually bother me. I don't care about getting older. What worries me is the thought of getting to 55 or 65 feeling exactly the way I do now.

Because I don't feel good. I feel like shit.

I'm exhausted all the time. I could happily have a nap every afternoon or sleep til lunchtime, even after what should have been a decent night's sleep. Except my sleep isn't decent. It's been shit for years. I wake up tired, I drag myself through the day, then I crawl into bed hoping tonight might be better. But it never is.

Perimenopause hasn't exactly helped either.

I know it's become a bit of a buzzword lately, as has the dumbness that often comes along with it, but it’s real. Brain fog is real. Losing words halfway through a sentence, forgetting why I walked into a room, feeling like my brain just isn't firing properly... It’s incredibly frustrating when you've always been someone who likes being organised and on top of things. Once upon a time, my time management skills were top-notch. Now… nope.

Then there's my weight.

This is probably the hardest part to talk about because I genuinely hate talking about it.

I've never been small, and I've never really wanted to be. But I’ve always been strong. Before my current business, I was an Online Personal Trainer, and I was bloody good at it. But through Covid, that business went quiet, and I found myself starting a new business, one that involved a lot of sitting at the computer at home and having meetings in cafes. The weight piled on, and the fitness/strength/muscle disappeared.

I don't think I've ever felt this uncomfortable in my own skin before. I avoid mirrors where possible. I hate having my photo taken. I've spent years telling myself I'll buy nice clothes when I've lost weight, rather than just dressing the body I have now.

Sometimes I look at myself and cry.

Not every day. But enough to matter.

The stupid thing is, I know my family don't see me the way I see myself. Hubby loves me exactly as I am. The kids couldn't care less what size jeans I wear. None of the people I love are judging me anywhere near as harshly as I judge myself. (That’s what I tell myself, anyway)

That’s all on me.

The scales haven't exactly helped either.

A few months ago I thought I'd finally cracked it. I'd lost around eight kilos, and I was absolutely over the moon. After years of watching the number go up or stay in one place, it finally felt like I was heading in the right direction.

Then I discovered my scales were fu**ed.

I really have lost eight kilos, which is fantastic, and I’m trying not to take that away from myself. The problem was that I'd started about eight kilos heavier than I thought I had. Instead of celebrating getting under 100kg, I realised I was actually “still” 108kg.

Logically, nothing had changed. I’m still down 8kg.

Emotionally, it felt like someone had kicked me in the guts. This meant my true “start weight” was the highest weight I have ever been. It derailed all the positive thinking and positive action that I’ve been working so hard on. I hated myself more than ever.

The last year has also involved what feels like endless appointments trying to work out why I feel so average all the time. Blood tests, poop tests, ultrasounds, colonoscopies, gastroscopies, HRT, medication for my borderline pre-diabetes (a number which I’m proud to say is coming down nicely)... I feel like I've ticked off every little thing that could be contributing. A couple of small things (a “sliding hiatus hernia” for one) but nothing ultra-nasty.

Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful nothing serious has been found.

But it has left me with a fairly confronting reality.

There isn't a test that's going to suddenly make me healthy.

There isn't a scan that's going to magically give me energy.

There isn't a pill, potion or lotion that's going to build muscle, improve my fitness or undo years of living on easy packaged food because I was too busy trying to keep everything else going.

Even if there is an underlying cause, looking after myself better can only help it, right?

I've spent years trying to keep my business afloat.

Somewhere in amongst all of that, I forgot to keep myself afloat.

It’s easy to do. You focus on everyone and everything, and you just… slip off the priority list. We shouldn’t, but it’s what happens so often.

The business needed me. My family needed me. There were bills to pay and clients to look after and staff relying on me. Life got busy, and I kept telling myself I'd sort my health out once things settled down. “This will be better soon… I’ll do it when the time is right”

The trouble is, life doesn't really settle down. There’s never a right time, but also, it’s ALWAYS the right time.

There's always another task, another deadline, another reason to leave it until next week.

I've finally reached the point where I don't want to do that anymore.

This isn't about trying to get back to the body I had in my early twenties. I don't even remember what that looked like. It's not about chasing some ideal number on the scales either, I don’t care too much what the final number is, so long as I’m feeling better in myself and can fit nice clothes again. There’s a “goal number” in my mind, but it’s not my focus.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't desperately want to lose weight, but there are other priorities, even if they likely will come with the weight loss.

It's about my quality of life.

• I want to wake up with energy.

• I want to be strong again.

• I want to sleep properly.

• I want my brain to work again.

• I don’t want my family to think I’m a crazy person and tiptoe around me.

This last one hurts the most.

I want to stop avoiding photos because one day my kids will want those photos, and I don't want to be missing from their memories because I was embarrassed about how I looked.

I want to not look down and see this enormous floppy belly that, even while losing weight, has gotten bigger in a very short space of time.

Most of all, I want to start treating myself with the same care that I give everyone else.

So that's what the next 100 days are about.

Hubby is doing it with me, which already makes it feel far less daunting. We've come up with a simple plan. Nothing revolutionary; in fact it’s pretty old school. If it’s too intense, I won’t stick with it. This is about rebuilding our lifestyle to feel better in ourselves for the rest of our lives. The hard-core, intense stuff can come later. Right now, I just want my life back.

It isn't a challenge to see how much weight I can lose in 100 days. Been there, done that. The results generally don’t last.

It's a commitment to myself that, for the next 100 days, my health, both physical and mental, is my priority. 100 days is a friggen long time, but if I stick with it, my life will be longer, more enjoyable and more fulfilling because of it.

Maybe I'll lose 10 kilos. Maybe less, maybe more.

I honestly don't know.

What I do know is that I don't want to hit my 45th birthday feeling exactly the same as I do today.

If I'm lucky enough to have another 45 years ahead of me, I think they're worth fighting for.

So here we go.

This is Day One.

Side bar: I am very aware there are people who will read this and think “shut the fuck up, stop making excuses for just being a lazy fatty and do the work.” I’ve heard various iterations of this from people over the years. Unless you’ve been there yourself, this is the easy way to think. But to those of you who understand: I see you, and I get it.