The temptation to crash diet is REAL! | Getting Back On Track Series, Chapter 3

The temptation to crash diet is real


In February I began to realise the truth about my binge eating and my poor relationship with food. Since then I have been trying to think of ways to improve this relationship and getting my head into a healthier place.

Avoiding crash diets is actually hard

I know, I know…I’m supposed to say that I love taking life in the slow lane and gradually changing my habits, and that I love my body so much more because I’m no longer punishing it with extreme dieting.

But you know what? I don’t. I don’t love my body more and I’m not enjoying this sustainable approach.

And here’s why:

It’s hard to stay motivated when you don’t see results quickly.

I know I’m not alone in this because otherwise detox teas and waist trainers wouldn’t be all the rage right now.

I’m changing my habits gradually as I feel this will help them to become ingrained, as opposed to something I stick to for a mere five minutes. On an intellectual level, I understand how important this is and know that I will hate my crash diet within a matter of days. However, on an emotional level, when you don’t like what you see in the mirror and want to change your body as quickly as possible, it is hard to stick to the healthier-but-slower route.

It’s hard to stay motivated when you don’t see results quickly”

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My New Year’s Resolutions for 2016 – Fitness, Mental Health & Travel

Photo credit: Ivanna Salgado

Photo credit: Ivanna Salgado

I’m not really one for resolutions. I used to love them as a teenager, but my long-standing journalling only seems to prove that I have a habit of not following through on my resolutions (not biting my nails has been number 1 on the list for the last 15 years to no avail). I usually get too caught up on broader goals, such as travelling and academic exams, to keep up with my vague resolutions ( “get fit and healthy” being the classic!).

That being said, coming home after years of travelling can leave anyone in something of an emotional slump, and I don’t want 2016 to seem small and ordinary in comparison to the excitement of years 2013, 14 and 15.

Instead of just looking at the big picture, I want to use this time I have of relative peace and stability to work on some of my smaller and more personal goals:

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26 things that I have learned in 26 years

Diary writing

So, this month is my 26th birthday! It seems like only yesterday that I was complaining about being asked for ID and embarking on my whirl-wind international adventure.

The other day I was reading my old journals from when I was a teenager, and I got-a thinking about all the things that I have learned over the years. Comparing just how different I am to when I was 12 or when I was 16, etc.

So, I thought it would be nice to reflect on the lessons that I have learned over the years and share them with you. So, without further-a-do, here I go:

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Why I got into weightlifting


“Yeah, you were always to big for ballet.” Jemma stopped for a moment. “You were never fat,” she amended. “You were just too muscular.”

“Erm…” I replied hesitantly.

“Like, you weren’t fat or huge or anything. You just always looked like you had muscles.”

The girl smiled reassuringly at me and picked up her burrito.

I put my fork down and remembered that time I stopped being a ballerina because I felt too big to be one.

You were never fat, you were just too muscular.

I never thought I was fat or overweight in any way, I just knew that I lacked the necessary attributes to be a ballet dancer: the delicate swayed-back shins, the dainty feet with high arches, the long legs and narrow hips, the beautiful turnout and the nymph-like shoulders.

No matter how hard I tried, I could never get my athletic body to move or look the way that I wanted it to. My legs will always be short and strong (I was an excellent sprinter as a kid), I have hips and muscular shoulders, and I have terrible feet.

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Moving back to the UK

Moving back to the UK

In August 2015, more than two years after I stepped onto that first plane to Rio, I planted my feet back onto English soil.

And it was the best feeling in the world.

My boyfriend, Gareth, and I had been travelling for around 20 hours, and I was so jet lagged that I was almost delirious with exhaustion. Yet nothing could take away the fact that I was damn happy to be home.

People warned me that I would be clawing at the walls of my childhood room within two weeks, but fortunately this hasn’t been the case. I missed the Devonshire countryside; English pedestrian crossings; Twiglets and Fox’s biscuits; the tenth cup of strong English tea; my brother’s sarcasm; Zumba classes; the Westcountry accent (the first time I heard a lady say, “‘ello Pauline, my lover”, I practically sighed with happiness); my Grandma Shirley’s infamous Irish coffees (guaranteed to put the hairs back on your chest); and the pleasure of taking a long bubble bath with a good book.

I also missed having routine, personal space and the chance to build on the career aspect of my life.

Gareth and I had planned to use the full 12 months of our Working Holiday Visa in Australia, but it became rapidly apparent that this was no longer feasible for a number of reasons:

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