Sitting on the sofa, with only television and snacks to keep me company, I was in heaven. I gorged on chocolate digestive biscuits, cakes, sugar-coated sweets; a share bag of crisps, a two litre bottle of full fat fizz, and of course a go-large extra cheese Big Mac meal. Savouring every last taste, I licked my fingers slowly in a bid to make the flavour last, but I was still hungry. “Why don’t KFC deliver?” I thought to myself.
I longed for some deep fried goodness, the greasy tender soft pieces of chicken dripping with gravy, but I couldn’t be bothered to move a muscle. It was the ultimate catch 22. After torturing myself, I finally gave in. I lifted my size 28 frame from the sofa, junk food wrappers, empty cups and little bits of food falling to the floor. I weighed in a just over 18 stone and my clothes as always were big, black, baggy and unflattering.
As I walked to the car, I was getting out of breath. I struggled to squeeze myself into the driver’s seat of the car, and my belly beeped the horn as I reached around for the seat belt. This caught my neighbour’s attention, she waved to me and pranced over to say hi. “Oh, off to KFC?” she asked joyfully, wrapped in her dressing gown. “Of course!” I responded with a smile.
“Enjoy,” she said, chuckling.
I managed to eat an entire family bucket of chicken, four portions of chips, a large gravy, a coke and a milk shake all to myself – it was a dream. The next day in Uni, after finishing my three bowls of Crunchy Nut, my four pieces of toast and Nutella and a chocolate bar for breakfast, I was ready to start my day. “Hey Suzy, excited for Blackpool on Saturday?” my friend Amber Smith, 27 asked – we were studying our PHD in Astrology together. “Hell yeah!” I replied. “I can’t wait!”
I was thinking off all the fish and chips bars, burger huts and ice-cream parlours which would be dotted along the pier. Of course I wasn’t going to miss it. Saturday finally arrived, and as Amber beeped to let me know she was outside my home in Leicester, I doodled out, and just about managed to squeeze myself into the passenger seat. “Hi Suzy, Oh I’m so excited!” Amber said.
“Oh, god, me too, Thanks for driving,” I replied, dumping my carrier bag full of goodies by my feet. My face suddenly went red, I realised I was so fat it was protruding onto her gear stick and her hand brake. “Sorry,” I replied quietly, moving my weight off.
I’ve always struggled with my weight. I remember when I was younger, and I would think it was really cool that my age matched how much I would weigh. I would say: ‘Look mum, I’m 11 stone at the age of 11’, and ‘look mum, I’m 12 and I weight 12 stone.’ She never thought it was a bad thing. Or she did and didn’t tell me. My weight finally stabilised when I was 18 years old and 18 stone.
We finally arrived at Blackpool and the smell of food was overwhelming. My taste buds were tingling. “What ride shall we go on first?” Amber asked. “I don’t mind,” I replied, eyeing up the food stalls. I followed her onto The Blue Flyer rollercoaster, even though I was starving, it did look really fun. “Next,” the operator shouted.Amber took her seat and pulled the safety guard down, it clicked in so easily. I took the seat next to her.
It took me a while moving my fat bottom around until I was perching on top of the seat. I grabbed my safety guard to pull it down, but it wouldn’t click in, it wouldn’t go over my belly and my fat seemed to stop it closing. “A little help here, please!” the operator shouted. I was utterly mortified. Everyone in the queue was watching in horror as two operators attempted to close the safety guard over my fat belly.
It took two men to click my seat into position, and we were off. “OMG that was crazy!” I said to Amber, my hair wild as we came to a sudden stop. I was looking forward to getting off as the seat was cutting into my thighs. I then had a horrible realisation, I wouldn’t be able to get out the seat – I was stuck. I tried swinging my legs backwards and forward in an attempt to free myself, but it was no use.
The ride was empty and the people in the queue were waiting to grab their seat for the next ride. I had no choice but to ask for help and the same two operators came over, stifling a giggle, and starting yanking me out of the seat. One grabbed one hand and the other man grabbed the other hand. After a lot of huffing a puffing, and pulling and tugging, they eventually prised me free.
The crowd of people waiting to board for the next ride cheered. “Waahaay!” they all roared. It was humiliating – I finally realised I had to do something about my weight. I left Blackpool red faced but more determined than ever. When I got home I threw out all my junk food. I started walking to and from university daily, and I started using online tools such as My fitness Pal to input my calorie intake, and I started watching YouTube videos on how to cook fresh, healthy food.
I started eating porridge for breakfast, chicken salad for lunch and chicken and vegetables for my dinner. I haven’t ordered a take-away in over two-years and I only drink alcohol on special occasions. Now, two-years later, I can now finally fit into size 8 clothes, colourful dresses, smart blouses and skirts. And now I weigh in at just 10 stone – I couldn’t be happier.
Being publically humiliated made me realise just how big I was, now I’m much healthier and go on daily run.
I go to the gym five days a week and live and breathe health. And, ironically, I’m engaged to a personal trainer, Christopher Patrick, 28. I do miss my KFC diet. Nothing made me happier than tucking into a box of chicken. But now I’ve realised just how miserable I was, and how I was trying to drown my sorrows in greasy fat-filled foods.
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