There are a couple of people in my life whose attitude to food and exercise I really admire. Neither are skinny minnies, their weight tends to be seasonal, bit chunkier in winter. The key thing about them both is that they see food purely as fuel for their bodies. Right amount of good fuel in, good performance, wrong amount of bad fuel in, worse performance in every aspect of life. No angst, no guilt. No ‘ooh, let’s be ‘naughty’ and have a treat’ – everything they eat is something they want – they just make better choices.
Food isn’t a treat, or a punishment, or a reward, or a consolation for them. It’s just the fuel that helps them live the life they want to live. Coming from a family and a culture where food could be any or all of these things, this was a huge revelation that didn’t kick in till my forties. At a truly desperate point in my life, one of these lovely people showed me how doing exercise I liked – swimming, cycling, Zumba – would make me more inclined to do it, feel better. He set me achievable targets until I was cycling 100 miles in the rain – and loving it. Low carb eating suited me and I didn’t find it hard.
T2d diagnosis and associated meds after 8 years of stable weight on low carb derailed me for 6 months. Why me? Poor me…and I now see I’d fallen into my old consolation pit. But actually, why not. Limiting fuel, putting the right stuff in, making the right choices, will fix me. It’s just fuel. I’d forgotten that for a while.
MK x