A little background

So how did I get to here?

Well I grew up in a nice Jewish home where heaped platefuls of artery-clogging food were synonymous with love. Exercise was never part of our family dynamic. It just wasn’t nice to sweat, certainly not for a girl. I didn’t even learn to ride a bike until last year. We lived on a busy main road and our parents were worried my brother and I would get run over if we had bikes. Instead, we’re both obese.

Of course, there comes a time when you have to stop blaming your parents for how they gone done you wrong. Naturally, they didn’t set out to produce unfit, unhealthy children. They did what they thought was best. And as I turn 39 years old tomorrow, I’ve long since accepted responsibility for my own lifestyle. Still, it set the pattern for what was to come.

My close family members have a history of ‘lifestyle diseases’ – heart disease, type 2 diabetes, high cholesterol, hypertension and so on. As I approach 40 I realise that I am a walking disaster-waiting-to happen. 5′4″ tall and 214 pounds. This, despite a background in medical science, including nutrition, and being a qualified personal trainer, although in fairness to myself, I qualified as a personal trainer to do something about this health and fitness meltdown, rather than the other way around. But I wake up in the mornings, with no energy for the day ahead, and wonder how I ever managed to let it get this far.

Finally, in my late 30s, I’ve managed to work through all the usual emotional baggage and find myself more accepting and forgiving of myself than I have ever been in the past. I recently married a wonderful man, and I want to spend many, many, happy, healthy active years enjoying him and our life together, instead of dead of a heart attack at 45.

I’m going to be away for a couple of days (birthday treat), but stay tuned for THE PLAN.

Hello world!

Hello world, and welcome to my page of shame. Today I am going to save my own life.

This is me: short, fat, dumpy girl. Future heart-attack-on-legs. Short, fat, dumpy legs at that. Cellulite on my cellulite. I used to be sexy. Then one morning I woke up and had turned into a whale.

I’m not really sure how it happened – I know quite a bit about nutrition, and even a fair bit about exercise. I don’t do it, you understand, but I know about it.

Well, obviously it didn’t really happen overnight. Years of yo-yo dieting interspersed with healthy bouts of self-loathing and depression, plus a good dose of “Why can’t I eat it if I want it? It’s not fair. Life’s for living, and I’m going to eat it, and you can’t stop me, so there!”

So there, indeed. So here I am. 5 foot 4 inches tall, 214 pounds (that’s 15 stone 4 to my fellow brits), with a body mass index of 36.7. Just 74 pounds to go till goal. Tune in again to find out how I plan to do it, and what in god’s name persuaded me to upload this picture into the ether for all to see.