I like food. Always have. Always will.
If someone was to say to me: “you can’t eat today”, I’d be
devastated. But can you imagine how it feels to want to eat, but to not be able to? Because you physically cannot
swallow whatever you’re churning round and round in your mouth?
That’s what life became for me in October 2013. Physically, I
wanted to eat. Mentally, I knew that I
should eat. I remember walking into the canteen at work one morning and I
nearly threw up from the smell of sausages and bacon. Yes. I know. This sounds
foreign even coming from my lips, but the bottom line was, I couldn’t stomach
food and I couldn’t face eating.
Within a few short weeks of my appetite disappearing, my
clothes were roomier, my face looked more hollow, I was cold all the time,
despite bundling myself in layers of clothing. I was thinner than I’d been in
months, years. Most girls dream of
that. So why wasn’t I happy?
I’d gone from a girl who loved her food and would quite
happily polish off a large McDonalds meal and go back up to the counter for six
chicken nuggets, with a chocolate milkshake, then a McFlurry, then a pit stop
to the corner shop for sweets and chocolate on the way home – to suddenly not
being able to eat a yoghurt. We all know the reason why and there’s no point
going into it. Frankly, I’m sick of thinking about it and definitely tired of
talking about it. But I was feeling very lost and it was as if the only thing I
had any control over was my eating, so without me consciously deciding to, I stopped.
Then Christmas came. Usually my favourite time of year, but Christmas
2013 was terrible. Long story short – I felt like shit and I looked like shit
and it was more apparent than ever because I felt so alone. I wasn’t alone by any means. I had
mountains of support on either side of me and that support came in the form of
friends forcing food down my throat. Maybe not intentionally, but you know how
it can be when girls are down in the dumps: you get offered chocolate, boozy
nights out and cosy takeaway nights in.
And although I think that all of those things are good for
the soul, and particularly my broken soul at the time, it definitely wasn’t
good for my waistline. My appetite was back and back with a vengeance. I bought
my dad the traditional Toblerone for Christmas and wrapped it up. And one
night, whilst tucked up in bed watching the soaps, I unwrapped it and polished
off the lot. So I went out at the weekend and bought another. This one, I thought to myself, this one is being wrapped up and put under
the tree so you can’t touch it. Oh no. It got demolished while I was
watching Home Alone the next day.
January came, and I was feeling relieved. I’d had a
wonderful year which had ended horrifically. As everyone does, I made a vow to
myself to lose three stone. I must say this every year but then put at least
one stone on as the year ticks by. I’d never been able to stick to a diet
before.
I’d wake up with good intentions. No, I’d wake up with great intentions. I’d have prepared my
meals the night before and I’d tell myself all day that I wasn’t hungry and
that I didn’t really need to eat two
hash browns and three sausages on my morning break in work. Sometimes I would
last two or three days. But I would always cave in. Why is this? I’d think maybe
I’m destined to be a curvy girl. After all, Marilyn Monroe was notoriously
curvy and a gorgeous size sixteen. So as my size fourteen jeans were getting
tighter and tighter, I’d almost cling on to the notion that it didn’t matter
what size it was – I was a nice person and being nice is better than being
skinny. (I still wholeheartedly believe in that statement.)
But then we’d reach Sunday night and the diet had come to a
crashing end on the Wednesday. I’d lie in bed feeling my bulging stomach,
looking at it hanging over my pyjama pants and sometimes I would laugh. Sometimes
I would cry. The truth is, I wasn’t happy. I’d gone from eating far too much,
to not eating anything, to eating enough to fuel a small country. Possibly even
a large one.
Now, during this time, there were lots of people at work
(old work. I don’t work there anymore. But I love it there all the same) who
were trying various different diets. One where you only ate meat, one where you
didn’t eat any dairy and another where you didn’t eat anything at all until you
felt positively faint, and then you ate a piece of cheese. (I’m kidding. Kudos
to those who work out which film that’s from.) One diet that seemed to stand
out more than the others was called Juice Plus.
I asked around and a few people pointed me in the right
direction so I managed to get my hands on some information about it. My first
thought was that it was blended fruits and vegetables. No. Was it dependent on
popping diet pills? No. Was it a crazy diet where you lose six stone overnight
but clap the weight back on every time you smell so much as a bacon butty? No.
Basically, the best way to describe it is to say: if it
comes straight from a packet, you can’t have it. Simple right? Actually, yes,
it was. Don’t get me wrong, the first two weeks were hell on earth, but you’re
changing your body. It took years to put that weight on. It isn’t going to
disappear overnight.
Typically, my daily food intake is:
Breakfast
Juice Plus Shake (chocolate or vanilla flavoured) with
unsweetened almond or hazelnut milk.
Snack
Turkey, one Dairylea Lite triangle, raisins and rice cakes.
Lunch
Juice Plus Shake, plus an assortment of fruit – usually melon,
strawberries, grapes, blueberries and my new found favourites, pomegranates.
Snack
Cucumbers, peppers, carrots and humus.
Tea
A hearty meal. A proper, healthy, filling meal. All thanks
to Mamma Chriscoli who will cook anything at the drop of a hat for me, but it’s
usually tuna, light mayo, sweet potato, broccoli and peas. Or grilled fish,
brown rice and steamed vegetables. Or fajitas – grilled chicken, steamed veg,
little bit of tomato salsa and a wholemeal wrap. Delicious.
Throughout the day, I just constantly drink water. It’s a
shame for my poor manager, bless him. I’m in “personal” at least four times a
day, nipping to the loo. I was also sick of filling up crappy little throwaway plastic
cups from the water machine, so I bought myself a funky water bottle for a
pound from Primark which holds half a litre of water. I fill it to the brim and
drink from this all day.
Here’s the crazy part – I’ve actually stuck to it. I can’t
believe I’m even writing those words, but it’s true. It’s been seven weeks
since I’ve been doing Juice Plus and I’ve lost 1 stone 11 pounds, and in total
since October, it’s just over 2 stone.
It’s been tricky and at times, it’s been hard. Think about
the last time you considered yourself skinny
or slim or thin. If you’re being completely honest with yourself and your answer
is ‘years ago’, then don’t be disheartened that it will take a while to lose
the weight. It’s not magic. There’s no wonderful solution to it. Nobody can
wave a magic wand and watch you effortlessly pull a size six skirt over your
bum and watch it fall off you. You just work, and you work hard. I exercise
five or six times a week, normally just giving myself the one day off.
I’m not one to go to the gym. For someone who spends her
time performing, I’m ridiculously self conscious and the thought of aching all
over and dripping in sweat in front of a load of men makes me cringe, so I go
swimming twice a week and I bought myself an exercise bike and I keep it in my
bedroom. Every time I want to watch the soaps, I jump on. Sometimes, I don’t
even realise that I’m exercising because I’m too wrapped up in the Tina, Carla,
Peter love triangle, so I look down at the little screen and I’m like, wow. You’ve
burnt eight hundred calories.
Other times, I stick my ipod in and turn the
volume up full blast and just go for it. If I’m being perfectly honest, at
first, this was the only way I could get my mind to switch off and not stop
brooding over the October situation – it was perfect. Exercise is the cure for
a broken heart.
Even when I thought I was happy and thought my life was
perfect, I still wasn’t happy with my weight. Despite having someone tell you
that you’re beautiful, if you don’t see it yourself, you aren’t going to feel
it either. The truth is: I wasn’t healthy.
And that’s the difference.
If you’re putting
crap into your body, then crap comes out – and by that, I’m not being crude and
talking about actual poo – but you get out what you put in. You spend a month
drinking fizzy drinks, eating McDonalds, pizza, chocolate, sweets, Chinese
takeaway. The following month you’ll be dealing with the bad skin breakout, the
bloated tummy, the wobbly legs and even worse, your stomach will be so used to
eating this way that you’ll actually feel hungry all the time. And eating
carrot sticks and humus isn’t going to satisfy your hunger, because your
stomach’s so stretched from the sheer crap that you eat, that you need more
crap to fill you up. It’s a terrible cycle to get yourself in to.
So, here I am, six months later, feeling healthier and
happier than I ever have before and here’s the best bit – I’m using my story to
inspire others in a similar situation. I’m becoming a Juice Plus distributor
and mentor. So if you’re trying to lose weight or tone up or just trying to
feel healthier, message me and we’ll see what we can do for you. Trust me,
there is no better feeling than bumping into someone you haven’t seen for six
months and them saying “Oh my god, you’ve lost loads of weight” when you’ve
worked your backside off. It's by no means magic. If you're after the type of diet when you starve yourself and don't eat for days, only to be skinny for one day, then Juice Plus isn't for you. You need to have grit, determination and willpower. And if you don't have those things, that's fine. That's where I come in. If you’ve ever tried to eat healthily and you just
can’t stick to it, let me know. We’ll get you back into your size 10 jeans in
no time.
After all, just remember: Eat shit. Feel shit. Look shit.
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