Tag Archives: letter to myself

On This Day


To the me on the left: You’re stubborn. You’re surrounded by people who love you. You’re brave and fierce and determined. You have value and you are worthy.  I know you are uncomfortable. Everything hurts. Nothing is easy. Not walking not sitting not standing not anything. Every career path you’ve tried, you’ve struggled at because in your head you feel like everyone you know is judging you because of your size. They weren’t, but it’s hard to change a mind set, and it’s hard not to project your insecurities.

To the me in the middle: You’re stubborn. You’re surrounded by people who love you. You’re brave and fierce and determined. You have value and you are worthy. You kept it going. The idea of being a personal trainer was still tucked away behind that head of curls and strange ideas. You were discovering, at around this point, that you enjoyed exercising. You enjoyed the fun runs, the weights, the treadmills and the spin bikes and the different things that your body was suddenly able to do.

To the me on the right: You’re stubborn. You’re surrounded by people who love you. You’re brave and fierce and determined. You have value and you are worthy. You’re almost there now. You’ve taken that idea of being a personal trainer, completed the first part of your qualification and started the second. You’ve learned that the number on the scale isn’t overly important, what’s important is having a goal broken into micro goals, and then achieving them. You thought that losing weight would help you to be happy with yourself, and with your body. But then you discovered the joy of excess skin and chafing and random clapping. What you’ve been working for is hidden by a daily reminder of what was. What’s important though, is that it’s there. Hidden, yes. But there. You’ve worked your arse off, literally.


*     *     *     *     *

Those memory things on Facebook, they come up every day to remind you or taunt you or embarrass you about what you were doing on this day in previous years. The memories only go back for as long as you have been on Facebook, which proves that there is life outside of social media. Or, that there was.

It was because of the On This Day feature that I realised for the first ever time that my regime of training, walking, running, lifting and generally moving was making a difference to my body. It was 12 months ago, on this day, apparently, that I made this realisation.

It was a photo of me in my Scout uniform shirt. It was the largest size shirt that I could purchase. You can see how it fits – it was tight. And I remember seeing that photo of myself and thinking, “Hang on, my Scout shirt doesn’t fit like that anymore!”. So I put on my shirt and took a photo and compared them, side by side. It was a pretty huge moment.

Anyway, that original photo popped up in my On This Day reel today. I’m not doing Scouts anymore – I finished up last year so that I could focus more on my shifting priorities. So for shits and giggles more than anything else, I went and found my shirt and popped it on.


The me on the left. The me in the middle. And the me on the right.







Often over-rated and seldom to visit the Naughty Corner, I am giving myself a firm dose of logic today.

It is the eve of my first fun run.

To say I am shitting myself is putting it mildly.

So I thought I would try to logic my way through this one.


Variety Santa Fun Run. Yes, I do have to wear a Santa suit.

1. What if I can’t do it?

Oh, please. You do this distance every day on the treadmill and follow it up with the rower or the bike. You can do it.

2. What if I get flies on me?

You probably will. But you can douse your shirt in that stuff that keeps the little buggers away and is meant to have no smell but really smells like death. Problem not solved, but definitely decreased. Besides, if you have flies on you then so does everyone else.

3. What if I come last?

Shut up. Last year you were learning how to walk. You’re doing it, aren’t you? Fuck it.

4. What if people laugh at me?

See the answer the question 3.

5. What if people notice me and think I’m crap?

If people notice you they’ll probably just think, “Good on her!”. I mean, really. Are you going to be doing it and judging everyone you pass? No. That’s right. So you’ll be fine.  And I know you think differently but you’re good at being decent to other people. So don’t worry.

6. What if people make jokes about my belly making me look like Santa.

Those people are dicks, don’t listen. Besides they should have seen you 20 odd kilograms ago. Fuck that.

7. What if I hurt myself?

What if you don’t? Besides there will be first aid tents, they would have made sure the course was flat and safe. And you don’t fall down now. Your ankle is fixed.

8. What if I can’t run?

Then you’ll walk. Plus, see the answer to question 3.

Ultimately, you will be fine and you will finish it and you will piss it in. Honestly. And it is less about the time and the speed and more about getting this first one out of the way. Then you’ve done one. You’ve done one! Besides, you’ve raised money for Variety (if people want to donate they can do it here), and you know what? There probably won’t be many other people there who have learnt to walk in the last 12 months. That’s you. This time last year, this was you:


Fresh out of the brace.

This is you now.

You run. You walk. You do stupid heavy weights. You row, you bike, you run up and down stairs. You’ve been training hard for the last 3 months. You have an army of people who are backing you all the way. You’ll be wearing Bessie, you’ll look as silly as everyone else in a beard and hat.

And you’ll do it.