When I was a kid and up to the end of my teens I ate what I liked and never had to worry about my weight. I never thought about it, worried about it or had to make decisions concerning what I ate.
As a teenager, growing up in the late sixties and early seventies, I ate what I could as money was scarcer than calories and healthy choices were not the buzz words that they are today.
In my early twenties and over the course of a few months, I fell ill with constant abdominal pain and was admitted to hospital where I started to lose weight as I couldn’t keep anything down and the use of painkillers killed any appetite I might have had.
After 5 weeks I had lost more than 20 kilos and when I was finally taken to the Operating Theatre I was just a shadow of my former self.
The surgeons were pleased with their work and proudly showed me what they had removed in a glass bottle. I was just happy to be pain free at last and looked forward, at last, to the rest of my life.
I have, rightly or wrongly, pinpointed this incident to the commencement of my problems with body weight, as since then, not only did I regain all the weight I had lost, but also I went the other way and became chronically overweight.
I’ve spent the last 40 odd years struggling to establish a stable, acceptable – to me, body weight.
At this moment I’m once again overweight. This time last year I managed, after a years effort, to drop down to a healthy BMI and went from XL to Medium.
Now I should try to take it off, again, but I can’t seem to find the motivation or the energy to embark, once again, on the weight loss quest.
It’s a constant preoccupation and a source of stress and worry.
It’s not going to go away though is it.