Our Lives
My fast-food fixes left me struggling with my weight. But when I received tragic news, I knew I had to change.
As I left my dance class, I spotted my dad Woody waiting for me. ‘How was ballet?’ he asked.
‘Amazing, it’s aways fun,’ I replied, linking my hand in his.
Dad, who’d raised me on his own, was my hero.
He was a fitness fanatic, so he’d always encouraged me to be active too. Whether it was my ballet classes, or going hiking or scuba diving, I never sat still for long.
Junk food and takeaways were a rarity, but Dad made it clear we were supposed to enjoy our food.
‘If you focus on fitness, then you can eat anything you want,’ he told me.
I stuck to that as I grew into my teens.
When I was 19, I met someone and ended up moving away. But the relationship with my partner was rocky, and away from family and friends, I struggled.
I dropped out of college and stopped dancing too.
Feeling rubbish, I cheered myself up with a daily treat from McDonald’s.
Scrolling the Saver Menu, my mouth watered.
Two double cheeseburgers, a McChicken sandwich, fries and a Coke…
As I clicked ‘order’ on each item, for a moment, I forgot how down I felt. Then, as I sank my teeth into that first burger, I got another high.
But the more I chased that fast-food fix, the bigger I got.
One day, I totted up and realised I was scoffing 3500 calories a day.
But even that didn’t stop me, nor did the fact I had to keep buying the next dress-size up.
At 24, I gave birth to a beautiful daughter, Nora.
Dad drove up every week to spend time with us.
On Nora’s very first Christmas Eve, Dad read to her from the book The Polar Express.
‘This was your Mummy’s favourite as a kid too,’ he told her.
But as he looked up to wink at me, I saw disappointment flash in his eyes as he clocked my bigger shape.
I’d become the opposite of everything he’d taught me to be, but I was locked in a cycle of bingeing to feel better.
Then one day, when Nora was one, I was driving to visit Dad when I noticed two missed calls from relatives.
I pulled into a petrol station and returned one of the calls.
‘Your dad’s dead,’ they blurted out.
‘What?’ I replied.
‘They think it was a heart attack,’ they said.
I was devastated, and as I mourned his loss over the next months, a terrible thought struck me.
If my super-fit, healthy dad could die early of a heart attack, I definitely could too.
By now I tipped the scales at 22st 7lb, and was a size 32.
I thought: I don’t want Nora to face the same pain I did, growing up without a mum to raise her.
But I s
