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.

I’d split from Isaac’s dad and had moved back in with my parents as a single mum.

Not exactly what I’d planned to achieve by 22...