++CURRENT WEIGHT: 22st 8lbs (4lbs lost since previous week)++
So, my first ever blog post.
At the time of writing, I weigh 22st 8lbs which I think you’ll agree is pretty hefty. It’s about 7st 8lbs more hefty than a 6-foot man like me should weigh.
Believe it or not, I’m quite pleased with this. It’s much lighter than I was six months ago when I tipped a whopping 25 stone. It was at that point the pandemic kicked in, the lockdown happened and all of our lives changed.
Like so many, I was forced to work at home. Friends and family suggested I took advantage of the time to look after myself and lose weight. I agreed. Not only would it be great for the obvious physical reasons, but just imagine coming out the other side of this madness having done something positive. It was great for my head.
So, since the middle of May 2020 (when we first realised we couldn’t continue sitting around eating crisps and drinking beer til the ‘Rona magically did one), I’ve been on my latest health kick. I actively monitor my diet and I’m gradually building up my fitness through running. I’ve even thought about the long game – a marathon. I’ve lost 2st 5lbs at the time of writing, and I’m doing interval running/walking sessions, four days a week.
That’s where I am now. But so much has happened that’s resulted in me getting here, that it’s worth going into the backstory.
The first time I started to think about losing weight was in 2005, at 30 years of age. I’d got together with a lovely lady and we were serious. We wanted babies. I was aware that being a big lad affected things like getting up the duff, so decided to do something about it. I started swimming every morning before work; cycling a few miles to the pool, knocking out 50-60 lengths and then heading to the office. I started a diet too. I really kept an eye on my food intake and I lost four stone. That was my best ever weight loss.
Looking back, we were living the life of riley. We ate out whenever we wanted. We’d go to the pub straight after work whenever we wanted. We’d go clubbing, partying and camping and, all in all, we were pretty hedonistic.
Then we got pregnant. We’d been trying for a fair while with no luck which meant it was a little bit of a (lovely) surprise when it did happen.
We were living in my wife’s flat at the time – a cracking little studio in the heart of Edinburgh’s New Town. But the impending new arrival meant everything had to change. We had to find somewhere with more than zero bedrooms and we did it just in time. A month after we moved, the apple of my eye came along. That was in autumn 2007.
As most parents know, that first bit of time after having a baby is unparalelled in terms of how special it is. His birth was grim to say the least (I may come back to that at some point but think blood on the ceiling grim) but both boy and mum gradually, if slowly, recovered fully. You don’t get a dress rehearsal for having a baby – but we were well In The Zone – a new, wonderful, special, unique parent zone – but not a healthkick zone. I couldn’t do my daily 60 lengths on four hours’ kip. Meal planning went out of the window. I’d given up and, by 2009, I’d ballooned back to 23 stone.
I did very little looking after myself after that. We were both juggling full time jobs (my wife’s was particularly stressful). Money was relatively tight and we were bringing up a little fella. We got married too.
The following few years were a wonderful – if relatively uneventful – time. But I wasn’t making the other big changes most new parents do. I wasn’t losing weight. I was still over-enjoying myself during what limited free time I did have. I’d drink, smoke and get up to all sorts of other shenanigans.
We weren’t unusual. We were “just daein’ away”, to coin a great Scottish phrase. I was, however, aware that it couldn’t continue like this. So, in 2014, I decided to take advantage of all the lovely disused railway paths criss-crossing our neighbourhood and began an admittedly half-arsed attempt to get into running.
Considering how grossly out of shape I was, it started well. I’d always liked the idea of padding the streets but had never felt like I was in a position to do it. A work colleague with the very best of intentions gave me a fantastic running plan which was a bit like an elongated pre-cursor to the couch to 5k. It was aimed at overweight people, with the aim of completing a 10k run in around six months. It said if your BMI was over 35 to check with your GP before embarking, but I didn’t know what BMI was and I didn’t really care. Turns out mine was 44.
I started small and carefully. A one-minute, very slow jog followed by a five-minute walk. I’d do this three times a session, for four sessions a week. And I just gradually built up from there. In the space of a year or so, I was going great guns – up to five minute runs with a one-minute walk, ten times, four days a week. I’d earmarked a 5k race in the calendar, and was thinking about whether to do it for charity or just for fun.
Then it all changed – after one run during a pleasant evening of July 2015, I collapsed. I was rushed into hospital with a suspected Transient Ischemic Attack – a mini stroke.
A lot to lose 