I’ve had the most awful time all my life trying to get into exercise and dieting. I’m a 30 year old Londoner who likes nothing better than reading, writing, and sitting in front of my PC. My wife is quite active and does running, yoga and other things, and knows a thing or two about nutrition, but while we love each other a lot, on this area we are just chalk and cheese.
I’ve been overweight, in various degrees, since my teenage years. I’ve never, ever enjoyed sport in any way, shape or form: watching it or participating in it. All the gym teachers were knuckledraggers, and the sporty types were generally the school bullies. So I’ve never associated exercise, however light, with anything positive.
So I have tried fencing, swimming, gym, running, hockey, badminton, Wii (yeah I know, desperate), and swing dancing, nothing of which keeps my attention for long. I yearn to just go home, sit down, and do research for my book. Anything else just feels, in my mind, like a sheer waste of my life.
Same with food. My parents are fairly old-school and saw food as something to be thrown at you, so I acquired a large appetite and a powerful sweet tooth. Even today, my willpower when it comes to both portion size and diet is atrocious. It’s almost as if I sleepwalk into indulgence and only after the fact do I realise what I’ve done. I’m the main food preparer in our house as I’m home from work first, so there’s a clear problem. When it comes to dieting, my eyes just glaze over at any discussion of the subject. I simply have no interest or patience in micromanaging my life in this way.
The wife has tried to motivate me in many ways to take part in what she does, or just nudge me to try other things, because she’s (quite rightly) concerned about my heart and the risk of diabetes. Thing is, I entirely agree with her, that my lifestyle will take me to an early grave. But it’s easier said than done.
I am normally a cheery, amicable person, but I can say with confidence that exercise and dieting are the two things most likely to get me into a stormy, gloomy depression. God, even just thinking about it makes me feel down, and it’s a struggle right now not to feel like having a lie-down to recover. The whole matter just envelopes me in a cloud of negativity and failure.
And it’s nobody’s fault but mine, I know. I am definitely the largest person among my friends, who are generally much better at exercise and diet management than I - several vegetarians, runners, fencers and ballet dancers among them. But despite them being awesome, smart, genuine people and good friends, my brain cannot stop associating exercisers with - not to put too fine a point on it - arseholes. Of course they aren’t like that, but when exercising I just feel like I’m becoming like the gym knuckledraggers at school. It’s entirely irrational - a phobia, even, perhaps - but there it is.
I accompany my wife every weekend to the park to watch her run, and the people she hangs out with are also perfectly nice people. But once I hear them start talking about ‘personal bests’ and achievement targets I have to walk way, the whole thing is just upsetting and I feel like throwing fists around.
On that, I think one of the problems is that my idea of what constitutes an achievement is different from everyone else’s. Other people brag about how far they’ve run, or a new route they’ve tried, or a new pose they achieved…I simply can’t see any of them as an accomplishment, something to be proud of. I’m not trying to crap on anybody’s parade, as I respect what they consider an achievement, but I can’t relate to it at all when it comes to exercise. Of all things this has to change, but I have no idea how to do it.
God, I sound like such a jerk! I’ve tried asking my doctors for advice and they’re no help. The NHS doesn’t offer any kind of mental support for this kind of thing, and I don’t have anywhere near the money for a private counsellor.
So, honestly, do you think there’s any hope for me?