Breaking the chain

One step beyond: The treadmill and me

HERE I go. It’s treadmill time – 7am.
It can seem far too much like hard work. That’s just the bending over to put my towel down as this expensive piece of kit has nowhere to put it.
The gym is quite quiet at this time in the morning. I lower my head to avert the gaze of the body builders and lycra-clad, super-fit, women who have also hauled their arses (or what there is of them) here as I step on. OK Go, I aint.

A new day, a new start

IT always happens - back off holiday, I'm raring to go. The difference is that this time, just two days in, I'm already making it happen. Now I just need to stick at it.
I need to have small goals and want to aim for half a stone at a time. I know it can be counter-productive to set a time limit on that and to work towards a target, but my brother collapsing and being treated for diabetes is all the warning sign I need, thanks very much. That's why I'm telling myself it's reasonable to expect to lose 7lbs by the end of August - through healthy eating and exercise.
This morning, I did a whole 30 minutes in the gym - treadmill and cross trainer, I got my heart rate up to 146 and down again after that quite quickly. The machinery told me I'd burned around 100 calories on the cross trainer and I have no clue how many I burned on the treadmill.
I was thinking that six stone was a lot to shift, and then I realised it's seven. Oh well. After a year I should see a real difference. But these first weeks are key - yes it's just two days in but I am feeling happy and motivated. I'm not feeling particularly hungry and am not beating myself up for past failures.
The turning point for me was talking to the nutritionist.
Her wise words have really hit home. My mum thinks they were nonsense. She told me so last week - about 10 minutes before offering me a chocolate bar.

An insight into the life of a z-lister: Remembering my failed diet column

"OOH, it's you, it's really you!" A woman screeched as I started my way through the checkout.

"Eh?" I replied, more confused than the time Carol answered the phone and said: "Come in."

"You're that journalist lady, aren't you? The one who used to write about eating every week in the Express & Star."

"Yes," I smiled. "You've made my day." Hey, this is what it must feel like to be Myleene Klass, I thought as I grabbed the Economy apple juice from my trolley.