More morning blog action.

Checking out Olli's blag, found a post commenting on a programme about an 8 year old anorexic.

When I read the post and reflected on it, it made me think about my own weight issues. I think that pretty much all women have had at least *some* issue with weight, or food - not necessarily life-crippling, but maybe a passing thought.

My mom started gymming it a lot in my Upper Sixth year, three/four times a week. She'd come home from work, exhausted, pack up a gym bag and walk straight out again, come back in a few hours time, super exhausted and shiny, and she would eat. Tofu and rice, or macaroni cheese, or some of the leftover Chinese take-out that we have on a Wednesday, or maybe a nutritious fried egg'n'chips. [For a vegetarian, she really doesn't eat many vegetables.]

She complains quite often that she's never losing any weight. First, she gyms. She might be gaining muscle. Second, is an all-carb diet the best way to do things...? [But, as she often says, what do I know? I'm just a university student, I don't know everything/anything.]

My father is... well, a clueless man, when it comes to dealing with sensitive teenage girls and body issues. I remember years of him calling me "Slim" as a joke, and setting up the decrepit rowing machine in corners of the house once in a while, encouranging me to use it. The last time he did that was about a year ago. He set it up in the garage, put a radio in there, and told me to do that for ten minutes a day and I'd start to look really good, cos I was a bit fat.

He is also quite weird when it comes to dealing with food. He loves to mention how I should eat a little healthier - "Why don't you try some salad?" - but he insists on filling the house with croissants, biscuits, muffins, Nutrigrain bars, Rocky bars, simple carbs, snacky crap. Mixed messages, anyone?

I'm not too good with food myself. I have a tendency to think bizarre things, like I don't deserve to eat, which is ridiculous, but I still think it. I also look at myself, and, of course, I do think I'm fat. And, I'm not too good at exercising... so, I eat less. And when I do, it feels like a Big Deal, cos I have to Watch what and how much I eat.

When I'm at school, or university, my timetable tends to let me place eating in a slot. I eat at x'o clock, where x takes 3 values a day, plus/minus an hour, so I can ignore the fact that it's Eating, ZOMG, it's just another thing to do in the day, and it's a normal human thing to do, and I can get on with it.

I can't do that on weekends, or in holidays. The lack of structure screws my sleep up, and my eating.

When I started my job at the warehouse over the summer, I didn't have a nice motorised truck to pull my cages around like I did towards the end. I had to push and pull heavy cages laden with all sorts all around the huge warehouse, then out to the marshalling bays, and repeat, for 8 hours a day. The drinks were the worst. Imagine a cage 2m high, filled with cans of lager, or 2 litre bottles of pop. Imagine me pulling that. It was really really tough.

I was also suffering from a lack of routine. My shift started at 2pm and ended at 10pm, and if I woke up at about 10-11am, I could easily waste this time, and end up leaving the house without eating at all, or having just some toast. There was a tea break in my shift; I liked to take it at 6pm. I ate a small Quiche Lorraine and drank water exclusively in that break for the first month.

Strenous work + hardly eating = Sarah losing just under a stone in 2-3 weeks.

Dad was pretty pleased. I'd never seen him smile so much. I'd come down the stairs to watch TV or have a cup of tea, and he'd say, "You look good. You're losing weight!" and nod, because he got me the job, and it's therefore his good work that made me look so *awesome* because I was so fat and horrible before.

Mother also commented that I looked better too, and so did a few other random people.

I felt like shit.

I was tired from my job, I was hurting from my job, I was stressed because I was crap at my job, and, to top it all off, it turns out that I was fat and ugly before I got the job, but a bit of unhealthy weight loss makes it *all better*.

After a while, I got trained on the truck, and started to make myself eat at least two good meals a day. Towards the end, it became three small meals and a bedtime snack. I started to put on a little weight gradually, and I felt happier, because my trousers weren't falling down anymore.

Dad still thought I looked brilliant though, because I was skinnier.

Now I'm back at uni, I live with D and I eat with him at dinner time mostly. Lunch is packed in my bag, and breakfast is part of the routine. It's harder to fall into bad patterns. And, I like to eat with D, which makes it easier to stick to.

~~~

I'm not entirely sure what point I was trying to make with this post. I guess it's just a happy little insight into my personal story.