I’ve never been the athletic kind. At school, I used to avoid any sort of physical activity. I didn’t particularly enjoy playing soccer during lunch breaks, or take part in chasing games like Tag or Freeze because, to be honest, I couldn’t run much so I would always get caught right away or be absolutely useless as a chaser. I would dread the customary 3 hours of P.E that we had to do every week, espeially when we were playing team sports, because in the line-up for choosing players, I wasn’t one of the popular choices. Apart from hockey and badminton, I never had a good time playing outside. I would always prefer to lounge around outside during the breaks, or stroll over to a nearby McDonald’s with a good storybook in hand. Words and BigMacs always chose me first.
All my life, I have been the pudgy kid, shying away from any sort of physical activity, and perfectly content with being a couch potato. Perenially conscious of my rotund body image, I loathed being fat, and felt depressed about it all the time. I would love to scarf down burgers and pizza slices and chocolate bars, but I would feel burdened with guilt right after. Soon, the guilt drove me to extreme measures and I began to throw up everything I would eat. Though at first, I felt disgusted by what I was doing, I soon became used to it, almost immune to the action, and only looking forward to the feeling of lightness that would engulf me later. Of course, being a raving bulimic for more than 2 years damaged my digestive system, but I didn’t care. In fact, I seeked to aggarvate my condition, and began to drink laxative tea every night, so that by the morning, I would feel as light as a feather and my stomach would be light and empty until my next binge-ing session. I was completely aware of what I was doing the whole time, and I had no qualms about it at all, and whenever someone tried to interfere, I feigned ignorance. It was as blissful as they say it is.
In the past year or so, however, I have started to adopt a different stance. I joined a gym, participated in their group exercise classes and became one of it’s biggest fans. I modified my diet, abadoning the candy bars and sugary delights which had been a constant part of my life for so long. I began to work out regularly, and instead of dreading it like I used to, I loved it! I became competitive, aiming to improve my stamina a little more every time, trying to endure a little extra each time. I pushed myself further and further, enjoying the journey all the while, and its come to the point where I feel incomplete if I don’t get my daily dose of exercise. Sure, I’ve fallen off the wagon loads of times, binge-ing every now and then, throwing up voluntarily on and off, but for the most part, I am healthy now. Or healthier, at least. I still allow myself to drink a can of Coke, or nibble on a chocolate bar sometimes, but I burn it off. Maybe I am even starting to drift to the other extreme, obsessing over calories and yearning to be thinner and thinner. Hopefully, that feeling will shake off though. For now, though, I am happy with the fact that from the fat little wobbly kid who hated to move around, I’ve become someone who enjoys going to the gym, and is even thinking of becoming a certified trainer.
Like they say: Motivation gets you started, habit keeps you going.