Help Over The Finish Line

Tired of being a fat mum, Ellie Gray, 26, from Swinderby, enlisted the help of her own little personal trainer...

- Laea Marshall And Ria Newman

Grinning from ear to ear, my son Isaac, then a year old, was full of energy.

‘Mummy, let’s have a race!’ he giggled.

It was 2015, and we were out in the park.

‘OK then,’ I sighed.

‘One, two, three, go!’

Just like that, he was off, his little legs moving as fast as they could go. ‘Beat you!’ he laughed, reaching the end of the playground in a matter of seconds.

You would think that a one-year-old would be no match for me, a grown woman in her early 20s.

But as I hobbled over to Isaac, I was fighting for breath.

I’d only run from one end of the playground to the other, but as my cheeks flushed red, I could feel the other mums staring at me.

And at over 16st, I could understand why.

‘You win,’ I huffed, taking Isaac’s hand. ‘Let’s go home.’

Isaac and I were living with my parents, Justine, 51, and Ian, 57.

On the way home, we stopped at the shop.

‘Mummy needs to get a few things,’ I smiled.

After exhausting myself, I felt I deserved a treat.

Back home, I slumped on the sofa with my bag of goodies.

Flicking on the TV, I reached in the bag and pulled out a family-sized bar of Dairy Milk.

Just what I need, I thought. But as I took the first bite of chocolatey goodness, Mum walked in.

‘I hope these aren’t all for you?’ she said, looking down at the coffee table.

You see, I hadn’t bought just one bar of chocolate – I’d bought six.

And to be honest, I knew I’d get through them in a day.

The past few months had been rough, to say the least, and these days, chocolate was all that seemed to help.