French Driving.

I made it home. I left London in the morning at 5.30am and, after 627 Miles, I finally reached my mum’s home at 8.30pm. My little car, a 12yrs old Nissan Micra is a gem! Especially considering the evil we encountered on our way down. Now, there’s one thing I regularly forget regarding the French driving style: They are moody, impatient and most of all, really really really fast!!! And they don’t like anyone getting in their way!

Now, my little baby isn’t a spring chicken anymore, and even if it was, I don’t think it ever had much power under its bonnet. But it drives wonderfully and, if you give it enough time and a few gentle encouragements, it will go all the way to 85 miles an hour quite comfortably. Now, obviously, above that, it starts to shake, rattle and sound all together unhappy – So we don’t often go over 80. But it does get there. It just needs time. Unfortunately, the French aren’t very kind when it comes to giving you time, especially if you are on the motorway.

Picture this: You’ve got your foot down, slowly picking up speed on the inside lane because some truck driver has decided to take over one of his colleagues, just for the fun of it. As soon as the road starts going down hill again, his friend will be faster and pass him, so it’s all very much pointless. But that’s how you ended up there, on the forbidden carriageway – the one where only Mercedes, Porsche, Buggatti and other really fast cars are allowed. You know you shouldn’t be there. You know you’re gonna get into trouble. But you take the risk all the same. After all, the speed limit is 80, so you don’t see why there would be any problem.

But then, you see it. First, it’s just two little lights in the distance. It gets slowly closer and then, you realise you won’t make it. You know, before you can pass those two massive trucks, that car will be flashing in your rear view mirror. And fair enough, in a flash, faster than you anticipated it, it’s practically touching your rear bumper. You can clearly see the facial expression of the driver, you read his frustration and he can’t help but flash his lights at you, like that’s going to make you go faster… and yes boys, I’m afraid, it’s mostly you I’m talking about.

So, just for fun, and because you can… you lift your foot ever so slightly from the accelerator. You watch his face becoming more and more irritated, and as he gets even closer, and flashes his lights at you more fervently than ever, you know, you’re work is done. As you finally pass the truck and take your place back onto the middle lane, he passes you shaking his fist, and you can’t help but smile back. You might not have the power to drive like a complete idiot, but you sure can grab any opportunity to show off your own driving skills, even if it’s just to infuriate a few French drivers!!!

Talk the talk & Walk the walk...

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t think of myself as fat, or, to be politically correct, overweight. The thing is, no matter what you call it: plump, generous, curvaceous, round, heavy, chunky… the result is the same. You are carrying too much weight around for your body. At least that’s what the doctor will tell you. And the eyes of others will be a constant reminder of how different and how “ab-normal” you are. The funny thing is, it doesn’t matter what they really think of you, because most of the time, you can’t help but hear it in your head, the name calling, the judgment, the informed opinion on how you got to be the size you are. You’re probably lazy, don’t exercise, eat too much junk food and so, in the end, deserve to be this shape

But the history around your weight gain is unknown to those passer-byes… Do they ever think of the road that took us here, do they ever ask themselves: I wonder what happened to that person? When it comes to weight, we are quick to judge and label people. So much can bring someone to be overweight. From having never been taught how to eat properly to heavy depression and trauma. And let me tell you something, this extra weight we carry around, it’s been creeping its way into our life slowly, unscrupulously, without making a sound, little by little, and at first, we didn’t mind it so much, we just figured it would be all right. I have been telling my friends for over 10 years now, pointing at people who – to me – seemed bigger than I was, saying “if I get to this size, shoot me!” Well, guess what, I came close to it, reached it and then, went on to surpass it.

I have been very aware, over the last month, that I had reached a new high, and not the good kind! I dreaded getting onto my scale, but at the same time, I knew I would have to face it eventually. And so, on Monday morning, with the support of my doctor – mental support, mental, people!!! – I climbed onto the scale. Not many people are aware of my actual weight, and for the first time, I’m going to put it out there. This is a lot harder than I ever expected it to be. I guess, part of me feels ashamed of having let it get this bad, part of me is furious for not having been strong enough to stop it in its track, another side is terrified at the idea that I might not be able to change it while that sweet little voice in me says that it’s too late to do anything about it and just wants to crawl under my duvet and hope that either it or I will go away.

So, it’s crunch time… Last October, I weight 17.8 stones. On Monday morning, I had reached an all time high of 19.1 stones. So you’d think, seeing it in black and white would giving it a whole new dimension. Still I waited for the penny to drop. I even started to wonder what was wrong with me. Why couldn’t I take control of this part of my life? The whole thing was slipping through my fingers and it felt like I would never have a proper grip on it. And then, this morning, I went to Rigby & Peller to get myself a new bra. As some of you know, my chest is of a rather generous size, but what you might not know is that I’ve had the same bust size for the last 14 years… Until today. Today, I found out I have started putting weight on my chest. The kind and helpful size 8 lady, with a size 32 B bra, noticed my usual size was too tight, so she went to get the next size up… And out came the scouts’ tents, making my breasts look like rockets. “I think the pointy boobs Madonna era has come and gone, don’t you think?!” I asked her. We both laugh, but inside, the penny dropped. I could feel tears slowly making their way to the corner of my eyes. I took a deep breath, thanked her and made my exit. To be fair to her, she was very nice and I could see on her face how sorry she felt for me. I had come in the store full of buzz and energy and was leaving totally deflated. What are antidepressants good for if they don’t act when you really need them, I ask you!!! lol

It was time for lunch, so, I thought to myself, lets be reasonable, we are having Chinese take away and wine for dinner, lets have a salad. So I did. But, even though it was absolutely gorgeous, fresh and tasty, a big debate was going on inside me. The following notions were flying back and forth, while I sat, eating, and unable to do anything about the voices in my head: “This isn’t going to change anything!” shouted one. “Like you’re going to turn a new leaf just like that” it added. “Got to start somewhere” whispered another. “You always start but you never finish!” it replied… and on it went. And on, and on, and on, and on…

By the time I finished my plate, tears were flowing out and I realised that something had to give. As one of my friends pointed out to me a while back: “You talk the talk babe, but you don’t walk the walk.” So, I suppose the big question now is, can I pull it off? Can I take control while being gentle on myself? Or will I do what millions of us do everyday, start a diet we’ll only manage to follow for a few weeks before falling off the wagon again? And can I be strong enough to manage my emotional state while sorting out my physical one? Or is taking both on at the same time a sure recipe for disaster?

So many questions… so few answers… so much unknown… so much to gain… yet so much fear… Stay tune for more on this girl’s attempt to get her mind and body back in sync.