How to lose thirty kilograms

Me and my mate Angela Mollard. I am about 110kg’s here. A very good paddock indeed.

I kind of almost hate myself for this post, which is so, so stupid. You see, in the last twelve months, I have lost thirty kilos.

“How did you do it?”

“Did you follow a special diet?”

“Green smoothies?”

The diet that kick started me was one full of grief. The Grief Diet. I do not recommend it at all. To see one of the most beloved people in my life die in front of me, well it wasn’t the best way to start. It shattered me so much. I remember the funeral director taking him away on a trolly, in a bag, while I sat on the front verandah of my parents place and howled, raw, gut wrenching sobs that I didn’t know I had in me.

The weeks that followed were spent trying to get through the days. I just needed that day to be over, and the next to be over, and then the next. I was not living at all. I was existing just to get to the next day. My anxiety was high, my friends, and for the first time I felt the howl of the black dog in the distance. I was a crap person in all aspects of my life. A crap mother, a crap wife and a super crappy friend. I didn’t leave the house, hardly at all, for those weeks. I watched stupid television shows and ate Kit Kats. Yes, The Kardashians and Kit Kats were my medication.

And then one day, I was on the phone to my writing mentor. We were talking about my anxiety when she commented, “It is all in your head….”

Of course it was fucking all in my head! This I knew to be true. But as I wallowed and ate and cried and looked out the window, deep down I knew I was not doing myself any favours. So instead of waking up every morning to the impending sense of doom that I had trained my brain to default to, I got up, I got dressed and I got out.

And I know that I appear quite contrite, and life is not that easy and mindsets are hard to change, but over the past twelve months, I have healed myself both on the inside and out.

Look, I am not one who naturally yearns for exercise, but I made it my priority to prioritise my twice weekly workouts with my Trainer to the mildly reluctant. I realised that I was eating far too much without even thinking about it. Just shovelling it all in until I couldn’t do up my pants. I carried around a fuck tonne of hair on my head. That was the first thing to go. My mask was off.

Here is me and my mate and my hair and my 30 kilos. With my eyes shut of course…

The grief diet is the last diet that I would recommend you going on. In fact, I think ALL DIETS ARE STUPID! I do not believe that you should deprive yourself of anything. Hey, I have never met a schnitzel I didn’t like. But I knew that self medicating with food and television was making the situation worse for my poor brain.

So I walked away from my grief. Like literally. I walked miles and miles. And I would walk 500 miles etc, etc, etc. My poor little dog. Not only would I walk, I would greet everyone who crossed my path with a salutaion.

“Good morning!”

“Lovely day!”

“Your garden is looking lovely!”

For some reason these small interactions make me smile. Walking and breathing and taking in the surrounds, well it slowly took over the Kit Kat cravings. Just this weekend gone, I culled my wardrobe of all my large clothes. Again, cathartic and freeing. I now have a bagful of size 22 clothes in the back of my car, which will not doubt be there for months to come.

This morning I got up and I got dressed. For the first time in a few months I jumped on the scales to discover 30 kilograms had melted from my existence. But even more important, far far more significant, is that my mind is also 30 kilograms lighter. I walked Jack to school with my little dog before going to the cafe for a takeaway coffee.

“I like your shirt” The owner said. “You know what I like about you?”

I was almost to frightened to ask….

“You are just so comfortable being you…”

And for the first time in a long time, I felt ok too.