Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Apathy, Attitude & Aptitude, Bonnie, Childhood, Family, Food, Health, Holiday, Mental Health, Rosie, Walking
As many of you know, over the last year, I’ve got healthy.
Through exercise and a very regimented and controlled calorie/sugar/carb diet [except on Christmas and Birthday’s where I eat a whole loaf of Sourdough with salted butter and raspberry jam] I’ve lost over 46kg.
Or said another way, I’ve lost the equivalent of my 10 year old son.
Not only that, but maybe the first time in 40+ years, I am in the healthy BMI range.
Yes, I know the whole BMI system is currently being evaluated because frankly, it’s not fit for purpose, however this is still a huge thing for me.
But not the biggest thing. Oh no …
Because despite now eating well, dressing better and basically being in the best health of my adult life, the biggest difference in me is this:
Yep, that’s my walking chart for January. Or should I say, for most of January.
And full disclosure, of the days shown, 10 were during the festive break and another 10 days were when I was not allowed to drive due to my eye problem.
But, even then, I walked over HALF A MILLION STEPS in 28 days.
HALF A FUCKING MILLION.
That’s 19,000 a day!!!
And you know what, I loved every step of it.
I walk before work.
I walk on client calls.
I walk in the lunch break.
I walk when I get home after dinner.
I’m a fucking walking machine, and yet a little over a year or so ago, I’d have probably driven to the shower if I could.
Of all the things that have happened on my health journey, my love of walking has probably been the most surprising. But what it also has done is reveal how I used to manage stress.
Truth be told, I never thought I suffered with stress.
Sure, there were the odd times it was tough, but generally I thought it was all OK.
However when I decided to sort myself out, I would continually catch myself walking to the fridge. Not because I was hungry, but because I was looking for a distraction or a diversion from something related to work.
I’d deal with my ‘auto-pilot fridge visits’ by forcing myself to go for a walk instead … however over the weeks I realized how often I was out pounding the streets which revealed to me, arguably the first time, how much stress I was probably dealing with throughout my life.
I should point out that when I say ‘stress’, I don’t mean anything like so many people have to deal with.
For me, it was more mundane stuff … like how I was going to write a deck or how was I going to cram all my meetings in.
But here’s the strange thing …
Despite walking so much, I somehow am able to do so much more.
Not because I have more energy – I’m not really sure I do – but because I have more inner calm.
I call it ‘Zen Ferocity’ … which sounds far too new age bollocks, but in essence means by being calmer, I have been able to put more intensity into what matters rather than what distracts.
Of course this shouldn’t be a surprise as there’s so much evidence on how running helps the mind … but when you have gone from walking to the fridge to walking 19,000 steps a day, it’s still a gratefully received fist in the face.
But what this walking has also done is prepare me perfectly for welcoming this into the Campbell home:
Meet Bonnie.
Or to give her, her full name – courtesy of Otis – Bonnie Bourbon Biscuit. [But we’ll just be sticking with Bonnie, hahaha]
She was only 24 days old in that photo and we don’t get her until April … but we have a very excited household.
Even our beloved Rosie may have thought she was cute …
Maybe.
And while I know owning a dog is a very different proposition than owning a cat, I can be sure of one thing.
She’s not going to be wanting for walks.
Last week was shit for me.
I lost my beautiful and beloved Rosie, and I also lost Jim Riswold … arguably the father of post-modern advertising.
He was a true one-off.
A brilliant, challenging, provocative, confronting, funny, sweet, determined human.
He – like Rosie – had been ill for a while so his death should not have been too much of a surprise, but it was.
It knocked the air out of me.
I know life goes on and I’m incredibly fortunate for the life I have, but sometimes it’s shit.
Proper painful shit. So please excuse me if this weeks posts are a bit all over the place, because it kind of reflects how I’m feeling. Especially as this time next week we face another challenge – albeit this one hopefully will have the happiest of endings.
So with that, let’s get on with this week shall we? Even though it’s a ridiculously long post about me. One that lets me feel a bit proud of myself, rather than glum with myself.
So when I was growing up, I loved sport.
Football.
Running.
Rugby.
BMX.
You name it, I did it. To excess.
But as I got older – and stuff like exams, playing the guitar and video games took over – my love of being physical fell away.
The final ‘nail in the coffin’ – so to speak – was when I was in my late teens had an accident.
While I was patched back together, I was told by Doctors I could not put myself in positions where I lifted anything of considerable weight or put myself in situations where my head could be aggressively shaken as it could cause permanent blindness in my right eye. [It currently only has 12% vision]
Obviously, the idea of that was terrifying, so I took their advice seriously … replacing what little exercise I was still doing with eating.
I can’t say it was a hardship because it wasn’t.
I loved it.
And that was the problem, because I couldn’t get enough of it … even when I would occasionally get on the scales at home and get alarmed at the number I kept seeing rise.
I still remember reading an interview about Queen’s bass player, John Deacon, and being confused how he could be 5 foot 11 and weigh 10 stone/63 kilos when I was younger and shorter than him, and yet still weighed more than him.
Of course, the reason for it was obvious, but I mentally didn’t want to accept that, so instead I just carried on in my delusional state and tried to put it out of my mind.
And as much as I was semi-successful in achieving this, I wasn’t totally successful. Because as I wrote previously … it was an issue that continued to affect me, or should I say undermine me, but I just felt helpless to be able to properly deal with it.
I know … that sounds pathetic, but it’s true. So, I just tried to distract myself with other stuff – which often revolved around doing things involving food. Again.
Sure, there were the odd occasions where I found the strength to try and deal with my situation – and it had a positive effect – but I could never keep it up beyond a few weeks because, well … the temptation of kebab and chips with salt and vinegar was more seductive to me than a room full of the latest Wi-Fi enabled gadgets.
But 10 and a half months ago, something happened that fundamentally changed my mindset.
And so instead of knowing I needed to do something about it, I decided to do something about it. Albeit for 3 months.
And that changed everything … because suddenly I accepted I would have to make ongoing choices rather than expect change to happen by itself.
It’s part of the reason I was so open about what I was doing, because I felt the more people who knew, the less easy it would be for me to just walk away from doing it.
And it seemed to work because the people I was surrounded by, played such a big part in my ability to stick with it.
That and my bank balance.
Because everyone – and by that, I mean my family, my work, my clients and my Doctor – rallied around me to not only offer support, but to try and make it as easy as possible for me.
Organising food … making food … identifying food … and even – thanks to my fashion client – sending me a copious amount of ever-smaller sized free designer clothes to keep me motivated in my challenge. Meanwhile my bank balance allowed me to keep buying the bloody expensive ingredients – and sweet treat alternatives – that ensured I didn’t feel I was completely denying myself as I kept choosing the smarter choice.
I do not underestimate the impact all this had on me, because without it, I don’t know if I could have kept going as consistently as I did.
Not just because they helped make it easier, but they helped me keep my resolve when we’re literally surrounded by temptation.
Fast food.
TV shows.
Social media.
Endless online food reviewers.
The rise of competitive food gluttony … which, I must admit, I torture myself with watching, whether it’s Rate My Takeaway, Beard Meets Food, Erik The Electric, Harrison Webb, Sir Yacht, Gary Eats, Jolly, JacksDiningRoom, HowKevEats or Leah Shutkever.
But despite all that, 3 months turned to 6 months which turned to 9 months.
I bought a treadmill that [eventually] encouraged me to start doing a bunch of walking which turned into a bunch of running.
And 11 and a half months later, I write this being able to say I have not only lost 42kg, but I’ve achieved healthy’ status on the BMI scale.
That, for me, is literally like I’ve achieved the impossible.
I say that, because when I started this whole adventure, I looked up what weight I’d have to be to be ‘healthy’ on the BMI scale and laughed out loud.
There was no way that was going to happen.
But slowly but surely, weight dropped and my competitive streak kicked in and things went from impossible dream to focused goal.
And as the photo below demonstrates, here we are …
Now I am not going to say I don’t still have cravings.
I miss bread with every fiber of my body.
In fact, for my birthday, I bought a loaf of sour dough, salted butter and raspberry jam and ate the whole lot in a day.
And I fucking loved it.
But the difference is, as much as I could have done it the next day – and the next – I didn’t.
And it’s that enlightenment that I deem as one of my biggest successes … which you need, because the weight journey is a complete fucking rollercoaster.
So while I no longer fear getting on the scales … or taking my blood pressure … the numbers are never consistent.
Slightly up. Slightly down. And sometimes – where the scales are concerned – steadfastly refusing to reduce despite trying your hardest to be good for weeks.
Nothing tests your resolve than that, let me tell you.
But while I have achieved my goal, what is important is my ability to stay there.
My biggest challenge is winter – a time where the temptation to fill yourself with comfort food is huge – but so far so good. Albeit because of the people around me, the app ‘Lose It’, and my brain finally preferring how healthier feels rather than how temptation tastes.
I don’t mean that in a toxic way, but in terms of my emotional state.
I almost like myself. And I definitely like that I’ve increased the likelihood I’ll be around for longer for my wife and son.
And hey, they even seem to be happy about it.
So, while Monday’s may typically be the worst day of the week – especially after the week I had last week – today I enter it with a smile. Or at least a bit of one.
It won’t last, but hopefully my commitment to being kind and good to myself does.
Even if every now and then, an entire loaf of sourdough bread – with salted butter and raspberry jam – gets shoved down my mouth.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Brand, Comment, Communication Strategy, Creativity, Culture, Emotion, Family, Fashion, Fulfillment, Happiness, Health, Individuality
So as I wrote a couple of weeks ago, my health situation has had a profound affect on me.
Not just physically, but emotionally.
From actually liking myself a bit to suddenly being interested in clothes – simply because now I feel I have access to choice, whereas before I was left behind by it.
I know that might sound weird for a person who has seemingly only ever worn shorts/jeans, black t-shirts with weird logos on them and Birkenstocks … but while I love those items and still wear those items, I have to acknowledge some of this may have been influenced by their accessibility to me.
But now a whole new world has opened up.
Different shapes, different styles, different colours and different brands.
Admittedly, part of this has been helped by having a client who is the Godfather of Street Culture Fashion and who keeps sending me clothes from the brands he’s started/bought/owns … but maybe, for the first time in at least 3 decades, I not only can explore and experiment with fashion, I want to.
It’s stark, raving, bonkers.
And you know what else is crazy … they’re not too bad on me.
OK, I know I’m never going to be Mr Stylish, but I’m also not Mr Blobby anymore either.
It’s made everyone happier.
Me.
My family.
My friends.
My colleagues.
My clients … especially the fashion lot, who – maybe for the first time – are happy to be seen with me rather than just work with me.
But there’s one item of clothing that has now entered my life that really highlights the impact of this healthier lifestyle.
Again, part of it has been influenced by freebies – which in this case, the copious amount of NIKE’s I’ve been given over the years – but I’ve started buying socks.
FUCKING SOCKS!!! Who the hell am I?
But it gets worse, because they’re not the cheap, ultra-thin, black sock shit from the local supermarket that I’d have grabbed in the past [unless NIKE gave me some] … they’re socks like this:
Yep, designer-ish socks.
OK, so these are sweary socks – or KFC fan socks, depending where you look – but I have loads of different ones. In different colours. With different imagery and messages.
And I bought them.
With my own money.
And why did I do this?
Because – get this – I CAN COLOUR CODE THEM WITH WHAT I’M WEARING.
I find this both sickening and hilarious all at the same time. But I’m here for it, because it is a symbol that I am starting to care about myself in ways I never cared about myself. Not in some desperate need to look stylish – because we’ve already acknowledged I’ll never be that – but to remember than my health has given me choice.
Now I appreciate this sounds stupid.
And I appreciate most people have been this way for decades.
Plus – as a mate recently said – I acknowledge I’ve swapped one daft fashion addiction for another.
But for 53 years, I’ve never had a chance to explore this side of my character and so it’s all new, intriguing and fascinating. At least right now.
Of course it doesn’t mean I’ve ditched the birkies.
Or the jeans/shorts.
Or the black tees with weird logos on them.
It just means they’re more of a choice than a necessity and while there is a disgusting amount of superficiality behind what this has ignited within me, it’s quite an infectious feeling. Which is why I want to thank my family, friends, colleagues and clients for all their support and encouragement on this journey, because I couldn’t have done it without them. I should also thank them for not raising their eyebrows too much at some of the things I am turning up in each day, hahaha.
Hopefully you can tell from how much I’ve written about this subject in the last 4 months, that this has been an incredibly powerful and liberating experience for me. I may muck up in the future, but how I feel because of it is too strong for me to completely forget.
Which is why I can’t work out why health companies have not talked about this benefit in their advertising. Some may have mentioned it – albeit in very contrived and superficial ways – though most tend to either be utterly rational or all about body shape.
Now while I am sure those approaches connect to some audiences, from my perspective the most surprising and enjoyable benefit has been feeling I have been welcomed back into life. That I have choice. That I have a way to explore and express who I am and who I can be.
Or said another way, I get to play dress up, but for adults. And not in a weird way.
Well, not in the weird way some people could read that.
And while that may not sound exciting in words, for those experiencing it, it’s about as uplifting as you can get. Because you’re not just living life, you’re rediscovering it … but with all the experience and lessons from the years before. [But sadly, without the ability to exploit history to make loads of cash … damnit!]
As I’ve said before … should anyone be interested in knowing what I did and how I did it, just let me know. I’m no expert – and I still have a way to go – but I found a way to make it work for me and if it can help you, I will be happy to share.
No judgement. No expectations. And no recommendations on socks. Promise.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Birkenstocks, Colleagues, Confidence, Culture, Daddyhood, Death, Doctor, Effectiveness, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fear, Happiness, Health, Jill, Love, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Perspective, Socks
Back in November of last year, I wrote about how I was eating healthy.
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.
In fact the only thing I am disappointed about is I’ve still not used the overpriced bloody treadmill I bought. Though I’m glad I got the cool, foldable, wifi and bluetooth enabled one … which means there’s some things about me that will never change.
So we’re halfway through November.
November!
How the hell did that happen?
Oh my god, 6 weeks and we’re in 2024 … where we can look forward to a year of price increases, mortgage rate increases … but not pay increases.
I’m almost in awe at how companies have seized the economic downturn as an opportunity to charge more for their product. To come up with all manner of reasons to justify why their prices are going up, despite [1] making good profits [2] paying their CEO squillions and [3] not innovating their product or service … meanwhile doing everything they can to not be so open-minded when others try and do the same thing to them.
Crazy.
As crazy as it being halfway through November.
And I’ll tell you another thing that’s crazy … I’ve been on a diet since September.
OK, I didn’t choose to be, it was because of a medical condition they’re investigating … but in essence, I’ve had to radically change how I live my life.
Few carbs.
Few sugars.
Less sodium.
Fewer calories.
Given I am a kebab and chips loving fool, you’d think it would have been a nightmare, but I am quite surprised at how quickly I embraced it.
That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t kill to ram that greasy magic into my mouth – and don’t get me started on how much I miss pasta – but because I have HAD to do it, my mind basically adopted the same mindset I had when I decided I didn’t want to drink … which is radical rejection and exclusion.
So for the past 2 and a half months, I’ve been eating a lot of Weetbix … a lot of chicken … too much lettuce and copious amounts of black tea.
Has it been hard?
Yeah … mainly because everything has to be pre-planned, but once I found ways to get flavour into the blandness being shoved in my mouth, I felt a lot better.
Whoever created ultra-low sugar ‘buffalo sauce’ deserves the Nobel Peace Prize.
And do I feel better for it?
I don’t know to be honest.
Obviously there’s parts of me that does … I’ve lost 18kg for a start … but it’s not like I suddenly have tons more energy or sleep better, as all the cliches go.
But one thing I do feel more informed about is how much sugar there is in absolutely everything.
For possibly the first time in my life, I’ve had to look carefully at the labels of the food I buy/consume and Jesus Bloody Christ … it’s everywhere.
OK, I know everyone knew this.
I probably knew this.
I just didn’t know how much of it was in every teeny thing.
So that has been a revelation …
Will it change me when these tests are done?
I’d like to think yes … but I fear no.
But what has been really fascinating to me is that my real love of dodgy food is the anticipation of eating it and the first 2 bites.
That’s it.
It’s why after I’ve eaten my latest chickenweetbixlettuce combo, I feel a bit confused.
Not that I’ve been able to eat the same thing for the 1000th time, but that I feel OK after it.
That my body seems OK being given fuel rather than taste.
Or said another way …
I feel just as fine after scoffing bland as I did after chips.
Of course I miss those salty vinegary pillows of crispy delight – it sometimes gets so bad that I’ve found myself watching all manner of food related stuff on Youtube from best burger hunts to most pizza slices eaten – but as long as I have had some food in my stomach, I’m over it.
Hell, I’ve even started to appreciate taste.
OK, not in my dress sense or music choice, but definitely in terms of what I put in my gob.
It’s all so bloody mind-blowing.
And while I’m under no illusion that as posts go, this is one of the worst I’ve ever written – and let’s face it, there’s a lot I can compare it too – I’ve written this less for you and more for me … so should I ever feel I cannot live another minute without a big bowl of cheesy pasta, I can read this again and remind myself I’ll survive.
Maybe only just. But I will survive.