I first knew I was beginning to have a weight issue when the kids started asking me: "Miss, I don’t mean to be rude, but are you pregnant?" A surefire way of knowing whether an outfit suits you, your hair’s a mess or you’re looking less than groomed is the instant and sometimes brutal assessment of a Year 7 student.
Previously, I’d been able to dismiss such occasional comments relating to my bloated stomach as them not understanding the time of the month thing when some women seem to gain half a stone overnight. That and a lingering suspicion that my frequent burping was a sign of IBS.
But it wasn't that now. The doctor I consulted about a painful and ongoing hard lump to my lower right told me I was on the cusp of diabetes. He didn’t mean the type 1 my dad has.
I pointed out I’d just completed a walking half marathon the weekend before, was at the gym three times a week, racked up dozens and dozens of miles walking in a normal week and had done a 50km cycle ride on a whim in the previous fortnight. I was hitting my exercise goals on my Apple Watch (aka the Nag-o-tron) by 10am each weekday.
No matter, he told me to get a blood test. The results came back and the resulting advice ignored everything I’d said: Get more exercise. You weigh too much.
A few months earlier a student had looked at the dress I was wearing and advised that perhaps I’d grown out of it. The pregnancy comments continued and, knowing I didn’t appreciate them, students would dare each other to ask me whether I was married.... so I have kids... was I pregnant. I tired of the game and the no but maybe answers. Ha!, I thought, at least they don’t think I’m too old to have kids.
Still, I was becoming body conscious. I threw out lots of clothes I’d previously enjoyed wearing. I went through a not unfamiliar phase of nothing fitting, outfits not working, everything feeling wrong. I was still quite active, still walking lots and going to the gym twice-weekly.
I’d been learning to sew and was proud of a dress I’d spent week after week making. Come the day to wear it at my niece’s wedding a good six months after I’d finished it, it no longer felt the perfect fit it had before. The funky skirt I'd meantime made, twirled around in on our Easter break and emulated in another fabric.... that didn’t fit right either. The flattering darts and self-faced top now made the skirt fit higher up my body. My waist was no more. I was tubby!
The next time I was at my sewing class the tutor made a comment about how I seemed to have eaten a bit more recently. It was true. My weight fears, that is.
I’ve never been a huge eater, or a dieter. I’m Ms Average in terms of appetite. I like my vegetables and I usually top my meals with plenty of cheese, but I don’t go for biscuits, sweets, ice cream, chips or snacks.
Or so I thought.
The communal English office table. That must be it. We’d bring in food on the understanding that it was a help yourself zone. If it’s on the table it’s fair game, as Hannah, our department head explained to newcomers and visitors.
I’d feel bad if I didn’t bring in foodstuffs sufficiently often. And I always tried to make it fruit. Or at least dome of it was fruit. Requests if anyone was off to the Co-Op were less healthy. And inevitably having bought stuff in I found myself resentful if I didn’t get at least some spoils from the shared table.
The one thing about teaching is the tiredness. Reaching for an energy boost you feel you’ve earned is no surprise when you’ve been up and at 'em since 5.30am, classes are done and the long post-school meeting and lesson planning time is upon you.
I asked a generous colleague who sometimes brought in tins of biscuits or chocolate selection tins not to. It comes as part of the Tesco delivery, she said. A busy mum, she was busy shedding pounds on a ferocious - and expensive - diet and training regime. She daren’t have the chocolates lurking around at home.
So I was stealth snacking. That was clear. No problem, I’d be leaving the team soon, so that bad habit was also be left behind.
Sure enough, it was.
Less simple was to shrug off the late afternoon/early evening habit I’d got into of zonking our exhausted after 12 hours of teaching-related activity and laying a bed for an hour or so before getting up, eating dinner and either marking, lesson planning or being so exhausted I put the telly on and zoned out.
A late afternoon nap before dinner became a great restorative as I recovered from the school year and became a free woman again (by which I mean it was the summer holiday). Except now I wasn’t getting up before dawn. I wasn’t using up the energy but I was still napping.
I was working, but it was computer-based, more sedentary stuff with none of the frenetic dashing from place to place like at school. (Turns out, our office-bound lifestyles often have the effects I'm describing, as Personnel Today explains.)
Mentally, it was a lot better for me. My sleeplessness began to dissipate for a start. But now I was under-employed. This had always been an issue for me while teaching: the all or nothing of the school term and the deadness of the breaks. Colleagues with kids loved this part, for me it wasn’t good for my psyche after a week or so. I need some purpose, some discipline, a deadline.
Buying a house gave me a fair amount of this. The online portal for the conveyancing didn’t leave us alone, emailing and texting, as soon as one task was complete another three would appear and need our attention. For once I wasn’t going out of my mind with depression and a lack of purpose. And I was still going to the gym. But I knew it couldn’t last.
Used to being so busy it hurt, I cast around for a new something to do. A-ha! I’d wanted to do an MA for years and my now-former colleague had often mentioned one I really liked the sound of. MA Literary London combined an excuse to get back into reading books – the irony of being too busy to do so due to the demands of an English teaching post wasn’t lost on me – with a focus for our frequent explorations and meanderings around London.
Yes, I’d do it and combine it with the project management refurbishing our new house would need.
So that’s what I’m doing. Along with a modest amount of freelance writing. I’m reading a lot. So much that we don’t get to discuss some of the materials we cram for each seminar. But it’s interesting and engaging and a great course. But I’m not yet out and about enough.
I need to be doing the other bit of the course that appealed. The being out and about in London bit. The saving myself from getting fatter and maybe diabetic and feeling pathetic bit.
So that’s why I’m going to be blogging again. Because if I need to hold myself to anything it’s to making sure it’s all doing me good – not just for future work readings and general knowledge reasons but for keeping my head straight too.
Previously, I’d been able to dismiss such occasional comments relating to my bloated stomach as them not understanding the time of the month thing when some women seem to gain half a stone overnight. That and a lingering suspicion that my frequent burping was a sign of IBS.
But it wasn't that now. The doctor I consulted about a painful and ongoing hard lump to my lower right told me I was on the cusp of diabetes. He didn’t mean the type 1 my dad has.
I pointed out I’d just completed a walking half marathon the weekend before, was at the gym three times a week, racked up dozens and dozens of miles walking in a normal week and had done a 50km cycle ride on a whim in the previous fortnight. I was hitting my exercise goals on my Apple Watch (aka the Nag-o-tron) by 10am each weekday.
 |
| Apple Watch, aka The Nag-o-tron, made me feel I was fairly active |
No matter, he told me to get a blood test. The results came back and the resulting advice ignored everything I’d said: Get more exercise. You weigh too much.
A few months earlier a student had looked at the dress I was wearing and advised that perhaps I’d grown out of it. The pregnancy comments continued and, knowing I didn’t appreciate them, students would dare each other to ask me whether I was married.... so I have kids... was I pregnant. I tired of the game and the no but maybe answers. Ha!, I thought, at least they don’t think I’m too old to have kids.
Still, I was becoming body conscious. I threw out lots of clothes I’d previously enjoyed wearing. I went through a not unfamiliar phase of nothing fitting, outfits not working, everything feeling wrong. I was still quite active, still walking lots and going to the gym twice-weekly.
I’d been learning to sew and was proud of a dress I’d spent week after week making. Come the day to wear it at my niece’s wedding a good six months after I’d finished it, it no longer felt the perfect fit it had before. The funky skirt I'd meantime made, twirled around in on our Easter break and emulated in another fabric.... that didn’t fit right either. The flattering darts and self-faced top now made the skirt fit higher up my body. My waist was no more. I was tubby!
The next time I was at my sewing class the tutor made a comment about how I seemed to have eaten a bit more recently. It was true. My weight fears, that is.
I’ve never been a huge eater, or a dieter. I’m Ms Average in terms of appetite. I like my vegetables and I usually top my meals with plenty of cheese, but I don’t go for biscuits, sweets, ice cream, chips or snacks.
Or so I thought.
The communal English office table. That must be it. We’d bring in food on the understanding that it was a help yourself zone. If it’s on the table it’s fair game, as Hannah, our department head explained to newcomers and visitors.
I’d feel bad if I didn’t bring in foodstuffs sufficiently often. And I always tried to make it fruit. Or at least dome of it was fruit. Requests if anyone was off to the Co-Op were less healthy. And inevitably having bought stuff in I found myself resentful if I didn’t get at least some spoils from the shared table.
The one thing about teaching is the tiredness. Reaching for an energy boost you feel you’ve earned is no surprise when you’ve been up and at 'em since 5.30am, classes are done and the long post-school meeting and lesson planning time is upon you.
I asked a generous colleague who sometimes brought in tins of biscuits or chocolate selection tins not to. It comes as part of the Tesco delivery, she said. A busy mum, she was busy shedding pounds on a ferocious - and expensive - diet and training regime. She daren’t have the chocolates lurking around at home.
So I was stealth snacking. That was clear. No problem, I’d be leaving the team soon, so that bad habit was also be left behind.
Sure enough, it was.
Less simple was to shrug off the late afternoon/early evening habit I’d got into of zonking our exhausted after 12 hours of teaching-related activity and laying a bed for an hour or so before getting up, eating dinner and either marking, lesson planning or being so exhausted I put the telly on and zoned out.
A late afternoon nap before dinner became a great restorative as I recovered from the school year and became a free woman again (by which I mean it was the summer holiday). Except now I wasn’t getting up before dawn. I wasn’t using up the energy but I was still napping.
I was working, but it was computer-based, more sedentary stuff with none of the frenetic dashing from place to place like at school. (Turns out, our office-bound lifestyles often have the effects I'm describing, as Personnel Today explains.)
Mentally, it was a lot better for me. My sleeplessness began to dissipate for a start. But now I was under-employed. This had always been an issue for me while teaching: the all or nothing of the school term and the deadness of the breaks. Colleagues with kids loved this part, for me it wasn’t good for my psyche after a week or so. I need some purpose, some discipline, a deadline.
 |
| Exhaustion and anxiety among teachers is common. Image copyright: We Are Teachers |
Buying a house gave me a fair amount of this. The online portal for the conveyancing didn’t leave us alone, emailing and texting, as soon as one task was complete another three would appear and need our attention. For once I wasn’t going out of my mind with depression and a lack of purpose. And I was still going to the gym. But I knew it couldn’t last.
Used to being so busy it hurt, I cast around for a new something to do. A-ha! I’d wanted to do an MA for years and my now-former colleague had often mentioned one I really liked the sound of. MA Literary London combined an excuse to get back into reading books – the irony of being too busy to do so due to the demands of an English teaching post wasn’t lost on me – with a focus for our frequent explorations and meanderings around London.
Yes, I’d do it and combine it with the project management refurbishing our new house would need.
So that’s what I’m doing. Along with a modest amount of freelance writing. I’m reading a lot. So much that we don’t get to discuss some of the materials we cram for each seminar. But it’s interesting and engaging and a great course. But I’m not yet out and about enough.
I need to be doing the other bit of the course that appealed. The being out and about in London bit. The saving myself from getting fatter and maybe diabetic and feeling pathetic bit.
So that’s why I’m going to be blogging again. Because if I need to hold myself to anything it’s to making sure it’s all doing me good – not just for future work readings and general knowledge reasons but for keeping my head straight too.
 |
| Studying in Greenwich is a real treat |
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