I‘d been overweight for as long as I could remember. When I was growing up, I did very little physical activity, and I was a shy, self-conscious girl who ate food to make herself feel better. It wasn’t uncommon for me to have potatoes and rice in the same meal.
I have a fr iend who’s a stereotypical ‘fat guy’: always happy, eating, and he wears a button-down shirt pulled tightly over his beer belly. I was horrified when I found out he weighed only 2kg more than me. I had always known I was big; but the thought of looking like him was enough to make me realise I needed to change.
My biggest challenge was consistency. I would sign up for boot camps and weight-training style classes, only to get bored easily and stop attending them regularly.
I decided to try running as a way of coping with the stress I was under when my father died and I’d quit a job I loved. As with all the other activities I’d attempted, I didn’t think I’d last very long. Even so, I decided to give it a try.
Of course, I hated it at first.
I would be out of breath from my first step. and I felt bad for being the slowest in the bunch and holding my new running friends up. But I had to show up, because they would notice if I didn’t. It wasn’t like it had been at the gym, where there was no accountability.
We run 5km toge