I woke up smiling this morning, grinning from ear to ear with that sort of excitement that makes you leap out of bed and dance round in your pyjamas, or do a sock slide across a laminate floor followed by an air punch.
Why so happy?
I woke up hungry. For the first time I can honestly remember, I woke up thinking “Mmm, what’s for breakfast?” For you to understand why that made me so excited, we need to travel back to 1993… *does Wayne’s World time travelling finger wiggle*
I started at secondary school and I was bigger than all the other girls in my class, and most of those in the year above, and didn’t I just know it. I not only knew it, kids were at pains to tell me at every opportunity. Looking back now I WAS bigger, but I was also about a foot taller than my contemporaries so it was to be expected. Obviously not knowing that at the time, I decided at the age of 11 that I knew best so I stopped eating breakfast and proceeded to spend the next twenty years absolutely screwing my metabolism into the ground by binging, purging, starving, fasting, all the awful eating habits you could want in one person.
I’ve had enough and so having confided in a couple of friends recently I’ve been working really hard on eating at regular intervals, fuelling my body and paying proper attention to what I’m doing. It’s not been easy, nor was it easy to confess to a dear friend that I’m pretty clueless in the kitchen and ask for her to give me some easy pointers. But I did it and clearly it’s working because this morning my raggedy arsed metabolism woke up and woke me up with a loud grumble, a salutation which said “IT’S BREAKFAST TIME!”