Years ago I used to go to a well known fat club. One particular day after another disastrous week and yet another gain I broke into tears. Yeah yeah I hear you. I was one of "those" people. The ones who sob because they ate a giant kebab and chips with extra garlic sauce the day before weigh in and then freaked out because they'd gained half a pound.
Except I wasn't. I had my ups and downs but generally didn't put too much pressure on myself. I had a great social life and if I gained weight that was ok because I'd enjoyed myself and would pull it back the next week. Ilost a great amount slowly and steadily. The reason I got so upset this particular time was because my consultant asked me to tell her what my reason for being there was.
For my child of course. The child I didn't have. The one I didn't know if would have. The one I desperately wanted. The one I wanted to chase around the playground. The one I wanted to jump up and down on the trampoline with. The one I wanted to take mountain biking.
Not long after that I was pregnant. I actually continued going because I didn't want to gain too much weight and I wanted to be the fittest, healthiest parent I could be.
Fast forward 4 years and I'm the biggest I've ever been. I've become complacent. Lazy. Making excuses.
I now ache like a complete bitch after finally doing the exercise DVD I bought 3 years ago. It's only 20 minutes but it killed me.
But it's a start. Better late than never I will be a fit parent.