I went to see my neurologist this week for my six-monthly check-up. He is a lovely man who remembers little
details about your life, which shows he has good social skills and a higher
than average interest (for a doctor) in his patients. As I walked in, I clocked his eyes doing his
usual appraisal, something which I imagine he does to all his patients, as a
way of assessing changes in mobility and gait.
However, as the appointment continued, his eyes kept fluttering their
focus to my midriff area (definitely not my boobs, that would be a whole
different blog).
I decided to confide my worries about my legs, as they have been
behaving badly for the past few months; numbness and sensory changes becoming
the new norm. He immediately came back
with “Last time you saw me, you were running 5K three times a week, are you
still doing that?”. I wanted to scream “NO I AM NOT RUNNING ANYMORE BECAUSE I
HATE IT AND THE ENDORPHINS ARE NOT WORTH THE PAIN AND EFFORT!”. What I actually said was: “I have always liked
cycling and am thinking about getting an electric bike”. This, it turned out, was quite an inspired
response, as he had just bought an electric bike, so that
distracted him from my lardy-arse ways for a bit.
After lots of discussion about Lake District cycle routes,
we both agreed I needed to get back to some regular exercise (possibly on my
non-electric bike). Almost as an afterthought
I said, “Is there anything else I could be doing? I have been reading a lot about
MS and gut health….” His eyes started
flickering towards my midriff again…. “It looks like you have put on a bit of
weight since I last saw you”. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach lurched
with the shock of those words being said out loud to my face. I also knew what was coming, so I decided to
distract him with a five-minute monologue of excuses including cold, wet, Scottish ferries, Christmas excess, Greek food, Ouzo, mystery viruses and fizzy
feet.
Eventually I had to actually answer his question. My cheeks
aflame, “Yes I have put on almost a stone since I last saw you.” He must have
sensed my shame and shock because he said in his most compassionate doctor
voice, “I know this is a sensitive issue, but being as close as possible to your
ideal weight has been shown to have long-term benefits for patients with MS, so
losing some weight will maximise your chances of recovery from this latest
relapse”.
I was surprised at how shocked I was to hear a medical
professional tell me I needed to lose weight.
I know (because I am not blind) that I need to lose a few inches, but to
hear it said out loud was both embarrassing and massively challenging. I don’t
blame him one bit, he was doing his job properly and made a judgement that I
could take it because I come across as confident and determined, how is he to know that I actually
have body issues and a fragile ego in common with many women my age?
When I got home, I had a little cry and my husband said he
would support me by only eating two slices of toast, instead of three, in the
morning.
So here is the problem: I know in theory what I need to do
and how to do it, but in reality, I don’t even know where to begin. Weight loss should be simple. Eat less and exercise more - BOOM! But just
because something is simple doesn’t mean it is easy. I absolutely love eating, the endorphins (or
the food equivalent) I get from eating are far superior to the running
ones. Food is a massive source of joy in
my life. If losing weight was easy, we would all be thin and there wouldn’t be
an obesity epidemic and a billion-pound diet industry.
The following day was an absolute beauty – blossom, lambs,
birdsong and an abundance of Spring energy fizzing about. I had an afternoon to myself, so I dusted off
the bike and rode nine miles up to Coniston Water for a mini picnic and a little
listen on my headphones to some nice Icelandic electro pop, sat on a beach
looking at mountains. The ride back was
a slog, but I felt brilliant. The
endorphins were buzzing, the lethargy a distant memory. THIS GIRL CAN...
…That night I went to a friend’s house and drank almost a
bottle of prosecco (642 calories) with a Cumberland sausage and apple crumble
chaser. Oh, and there was some cheese…
You see, NOT easy.
Even with the motivation of numb feet and the possibility of other more
permanent disability, the siren calls of the cheese and bread and crisps and
curry and chocolate and Yorkshire puddings are strong. So, I have decided that my approach will be
(and to quote my recently buff brother-in-law), “Change one thing and the rest will
follow”. I am also going to take into
consideration a friend’s brilliant but harsh advice: “You can’t outrun a bad
diet!”
In practical terms this means I am going to start small, by
getting the exercise regime back on track and to stop snacking. Hopefully these tentative steps into a
healthy lifestyle will eventually lead to a Mediterranean rainbow diet, triathlete
endgame but let’s face it, if it just stops me eating biscuits at 9.30 at night
then I will have achieved something.
Wish me luck and if you have any tips, let me know.
