The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

It was quite a big thing for me to talk about – which is weird, given I have absolutely no problem writing about death, unemployment or the size of my best friends appendage, to name but a few of the subjects I’ve waxed lyrical about that many smarter people would rather shut-up than share.

But since then, more things have happened and while I genuinely feel uncomfortable to write it, I am also quite proud of myself, so here we go.

You see what happened was back in August, my doctor asked me to spend 3 months focusing on my health. To try and retrain my habits. To make different choices about my diet. To see what might happen by doing it.

And while I’ve been a helpless – and willing – slave to the seductive powers of pasta and sugar for basically my whole life … I decided this was the time I was going to go all in.

So I did.

65g of carbs a day. 25g of sugar a day. 1700 calories a day.

Every day.

And while it was hard at first, once I knew what I could do – and eat – it was satisfying. Well … more satisfying than I imagined. And that only grew when the results of those first 3 months came in.

I’d lost 22kg.
I’d dropped 4 sizes in clothes.
I saw every one of my health measures hit ‘healthy’.
My doctor called to ask if I was OK as the results were so extreme, he thought either the original results were inaccurate or I was doing a different sort of damage to myself.

[For the record, he was wrong on both counts – I was just in a very intimate relationship with chicken and spinach]

And as good as all that was – and it was very good – the biggest change was that I have started to like myself for the first time in a long time.

Yes, I appreciate that sounds tone deaf and dramatic given there are people who face real challenges and problems, whereas I have an amazing family, a wonderful life and lifestyle and a rewarding and fulfilling job … but it’s true.

In my defence, I didn’t really realise it until I started coming out the other side. Mainly because I think the impact was over time … slowly but surely, bit by bit … until at some point, it found a way to settle permenantly just under my surface.

And while it only popped up to mess with me at certain times and moments – and I suspected what may be behind it all – it is only recently that I was able to confirm my concerns about my health, maybe more than my actual health, was the cause of it.

Or should I say, the concerns about my sub-optimal health.

Just to be clear, what I’m talking about is self-esteem.

God it’s a weird thing.

It’s in your power and yet you’re also powerless to it and I felt I was in its grip.Putting me in a corner that I didn’t think I could get out of so I adapted my ways and choices to try and counteract it, without realising I was just giving it more power over me in more ways.

Which is why as I have got more in control of my health, I have felt a bit of a rebirth.

A bit more confidence about what I can do.

A bit more happiness about who I am.

From the superficial to the deeply, deeply personal.

Part of this is because I’m now wearing smaller sized clothes than I have in literally decades and I’m almost ashamed at how much that has affected me. Of course, it’s also bankrupting me as I have to basically buy new t-shirts that no longer look like I’m wearing a man tent dress … but it has changed more than just the size, but what I choose. Because frankly, more things are now available to me and so I’m experimenting with clothes like I’m a 10 year old kid. Well, I say experimenting, but it really has come down to a few t-shirts in colours that aren’t black and some socks [which is, let’s be honest, already a shock given my Birkenstock obsession] in a range of ridiculous colours. Fuck, I even colour coded my t-shirt and socks once … something never ever done in my life. And – to be honest – never to be done again.

But it is in terms of my family that I am the most indebted.

Because I’ve likely increased the time I’ll be here for my wife and son.

OK, so there wasn’t a identified risk that was going to cut it short … but health is always going to make it last longer and that means everything to me.

Because I love my family.

Love every little thing about them.

Of course they can annoy the fuck out of me, but I am sure I am far worse to them – even though this shocks me as I’m obviously a saint.

But as my son is just 9, I want to be around for as long as I can. I want to see the life he builds, I want to be there for the choices he wants to make. I want to just be in his life and have him in mine for as long as possible. With my wonderful wife by my side. Building new adventures and sharing them. Together.

Now I appreciate that all sounds very Hallmark card … but I do, that’s maybe all I want in some ways … and I’d be denying the truth if I said I hadn’t wondered if this was going to be as possible as I hoped it would be.

And yet … I felt it was an impossible situation to change.

I wanted it.

I knew what could help it.

But I didn’t have the skills or the energy or the willpower. Always having an excuse why I couldn’t dedicate the time and energy to it. Which is mad given I have a fuck-ton of energy and willpower to do a bunch of other stuff … but I had convinced myself that I’d met my match and so that affected me deeply in my head. Loving my family but not knowing how to make sure that love could be around for longer.

I know, it sounds pathetic, but I bet I am not the only one who has faced this psychological prison. And just to be clear, it’s not that I hadn’t tried things to change it. I had. And failed … over and over again. Which not only made me feel a bit more shit about myself, but also convinced myself I was not going to win this battle.

Which is why the pride Otis has in what I’ve done that makes me almost cry with joy. And what breaks my heart is that he obviously had the same worries about how long I’d be around. Not overtly. Not daily. But he tells me how proud he is of me and how happy he is I’m ‘healthy’ … and so while no one knows when the ‘end day’ will come, removing some of the more blatant concerns that it could be sooner than you hope, is a psychological gift in itself.

Now I am not going to say if I can do it, anyone can.

I couldn’t do it for 53 years and you don’t have to be healthy to be happy.

I hate that attitude.

And I was happy … I’m just saying I’m happier now.

With myself.

Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t have issues – I do, bloody loads of them – but it means I have less than I’ve been carrying, which is nice.

In fact, as of today, I have 30kg less problems I’m carrying – ha.

But let’s not ignore the reality that doing this is really fucking hard – especially at the start – and I needed a Doctor to basically scare me into it and needed to actively choose to not make excuses for not sticking with it. Which is why if anyone resonates with my story and wants to chat about their situation – or what I did to try and get out of it – then just get in touch and I’ll listen and share.

While there is a conscious mental decision to be made, at its heart it’s simply about food choices and portion choices. Oh, and investment … both in time and – sadly – money.

Because it’s a privilege to be able to do this, because – ironically – eating less costs more. Or it does if you want to make it easier.

But the good news is there’s choices that actually are good … and you’re talking to someone who thinks kebab and chips is fine dining. So if you want to know more, I’ll tell you what worked for me and how I did it and then you can decide what’s right for you.

Which leaves me to say a huge thanks to my family, doctor, clients, colleagues and whoever the fuck invented 99% sugar free buffalo sauce … because they made this happen. They made this possible,

And while I may fuck up occasionally, I now know I won’t fuck up every single mealtime and that’s a win in my book, because this journey has taught me things about myself and my habits that have been a revelation.