A Hopeless Dieter


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I think it’s fair to say that I am also a hopeless dieter. If I want to eat healthily I just can’t manage to and when I just want to scoff my face I always have that nagging voice in my head telling me not to, there’s no point in ruining my diet for a few nachos. No matter how hard I try, I always feel like I’m doing the wrong thing. Like most women, I feel like I’ve attempted nearly every diet out there, but nothing seems to work. It’s not because they’re bad diets, I’m sure those with willpower get on with them perfectly fine, and I know it’s cliché to say but it’s true, it’s not them it’s me. At the end of the day when faced with the prospect of eating cabbage soup for the foreseeable future or just ignoring the fact that I can no longer fit into half my wardrobe without having to completely give up breathing and just eat all the chocolate in sight, I think I know which I’d rather do.

Of course people will always argue, quite correctly, that you don’t need to do a fad diet to lose weight it just takes hard work, healthy eating and exercise. I think I speak for us all when I say that I’d rather blame my chubby thighs on another failed fad diet than actually have to get up and exercise. Here’s the thing with exercising; I don’t mind doing it, I just don’t like having to convince myself to do it. When I’m standing in the middle of a field, listening to my workout 2013 playlist, and shivering it’s really not that hard to convince myself to start jogging (how else am I going to stop my tits from freezing).  The main issue is when I’m lying on the sofa, pyjamas on and hot chocolate just beginning to cool, and I’m trying to explain to myself the benefits of pulling on my sports bra and going for a quickie around the field (the jogging kind of quickie you must understand). Personal trainers, and those real freaks of nature that love exercise but don’t even get paid to do it, will argue that it doesn’t matter what the weather is like outside, you have no excuse not to at least do half an hours exercise, but this is ludicrous. If I’m faced with a day off from work, it looks like it could begin to snow (or is it too cold for that?) and I have a fresh packet of bacon in the fridge ready to be made into a sandwich, at what point am I going to be inspired to say “Do you know what? Fuck it! I’m going to kick start my exercise regime.” No. It’s just not going to happen, because I do not have the willpower or really the want to do that.

This is why I pay someone to do this for me. That’s right; I’ve hired my absolute archenemy to help me, a personal trainer. While I stand by my previous accusations that anyone who likes exercise that much must be the work of the devil I do also appreciate that they’re probably going to push out an extra 50 squats than I would ever do by myself.  They know that when I feel my legs tingling it just means it’s all working, the pain I’ll feel in the morning will eventually be worth something. Whereas I would just calmly explain to myself that my thighs hurt some much, not because they’re meant to, but because I have pulled something, exercise is not for me and it’s better for my health in the long run to just not try this whole exercise lark again. I know, deep down, that this isn’t true, but if I never hired a personal trainer I would probably still thinking that the rowing machine was just a really entertaining bench.

And so this is my story, my journey, my successes and my failures all wrapped into one blog. Join me as I attempt to lose weight, exercise, eat healthier and possibly find enlightenment (or the nearest bar, whichever comes first).


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