Christmas Update

It's been a long while since I posted - I hope no one had the impression things were terribly amiss. In short, I went into quite a depression when my return to work was delayed and didn't see the point in putting up my dejected views on the internet. But as Christmas (rapidly) approaches, it seemed timely to post a little update.

I have finally gone back to my PhD! Even though I'm not allowed to do lab work until the New Year, I finally have my foot back in the department. I have a desk, a space in the office and can finally call myself a student again. All the seminars, workshops, conferences and other goings-on of academic life are open to me again. And perhaps best of all, my colleagues have been very kind to me and don't seem to mind too much that I'm back again.

But it's certainly been a period of "adjustment". For the past few weeks, I have been working on my confirmation report - an obligatory duty for PhD researchers to progress from the first to second year. So its meant long days working at the computer, trying to make sense of my notes and the experiments I did...some of them nearly two years ago. I've found it hard just to work on this one thing - especially when everyone around me is able to carry on with lab work - and my mood has dropped quite low at times.

The Departmental Christmas tree

It's also tired me out more than I imagined....although the real culprit is likely elsewhere. At the moment, my exercise disorder has a very strong grip on me. I rise at 6 every weekday so that I can hit the gym before work, fitting in a workout involving either a spin class or a mixture of weights and cardio. I'm simply not getting enough sleep - by the time I have come home from work, done my back exercises, cooked, eaten, tidied up, made my meals for tomorrow, worked on my writing projects, had supper - it's always later than I would hope. I have found that I need a solid eight hours sleep to not have that fuzzy "brain-dead" fog the next day. This time last year, I was having 2 complete days off a week - whatever happened to that?!!!

Aside from feeling exhausted nearly all the time, I have eroded my ability to be flexible. While everyone else is looking forward to Christmas, my mind is in a turmoil about how I can fit in my exercise. I'm ashamed to say it, but the time I will spend at my parents house will be dictated by how many days my gym is closed for. As soon as it's open, I will want to run back there - my comfort blanket, my source of addictive endorphins, my guilt release.

This is wrong. Over Advent, I have been reading the verses in James which tell us that we can be free from guilt in this life if we put our trust in Jesus and learn to live in him : "perfect love drives out fear". I know I am simply not living sustainably at the moment - so how will I cope when my realwork starts again in January? It's something I will be giving some serious thought to over Christmas.

I do feel ashamed that I make such problems for myself when others have to contend with real issues - acute illness, caring duties, money worries, etc. This guilt, this compulsion only exist in my head. If only I could master it and stop being bullied.

But I wish you a happy, peaceful and blessed time with those you love this Christmastime. And my best wishes that 2017 brings about the fulfilment of your hopes and plans.

Can Holidays ever by Happy-Days?

Italy can be a hard place to be if you're a (recovering) anorexic. Especially if you don't eat the 3 Ps: Pizza, Pasta and Polenta...

I have just returned from nine days in Venice, alone. It is a trip I have been looking forward to since I returned from my visit last year. It's a cliché, but there really is nowhere else like it. The light on the water is simply magical and I will never tire of watching the gondolas slip quietly along the canals.

But it's impossible to only see the scenery. Everywhere you look, there are temples of worship to the Italian cuisine. Endless gelato counters, patisseries groaning with delicate treats, enough pizza to feed an army... Venice (or at least the San Marco district) must surely have one of the highest densities of cafes and trattorias in the world. I really do struggle with it - especially as I am separated from my beloved gym, so fret about not burning off the calories I consume. I hate being confronted on every corner by gorgeous-looking food, so calorific that it is 'off limits' for me. But I knew it would be like this, so I made a plan before I departed.

I know that it is not good for me to be 'on the edge' all the time, hovering over the minimum weight I need to be to be allowed back onto my PhD. What if I caught the flu or had a bad case of diarrhoea?
What I really need is a 'safety net' - a few extra pounds that can keep me over the minimum level if anything crops up. So, just for once, I was going to relax and enjoy my holiday - and not worry about doing enough exercise and even try and treat myself. Just for once, I was going to break out of my shallow life constrained by rules and restrictions and 'forbidden foods'. And if I put on any weight - good!

At first, things went well. It was hot and sunny - perfect weather for enjoying a gelato. I went in churches, museums, monasteries...and even some of the patisseries recommended by native locals. I did actually manage to treat myself and enjoyed the best tiramisu I had ever tasted. When it came to the restaurants though, most of the menus weren't an option for me- try asking for anything without spaghetti when you don't speak Italian. As one waiter put it "If you don't eat pasta or pizza ...it's difficult in Italy". Fortunately, the deli counters in the Coop supermarkets were a cut above their British counterparts - sea food salads, fish, cheese, olives, marinated vegetables...I had many happy picnics watching the sun set over the lagoon.

Beats the local Tesco!

But I couldn't stop fretting. Every time I saw an early-morning jogger, I cursed my decision to leave my running shoes behind. I couldn't stop counting the days until I could start working out again. Even though I was spending nearly all day on my feet, crossing endless streets and bridges, I felt so lazy and the guilt began to creep up. One morning, I just felt that I couldn't eat any more. Whether it was sickness from something I ate or 'Anna' getting into me, I can't tell. I didn't eat much for the next two days. By the time my appetite returned, the weather had changed - cold, grey and rainy. I never got to Nicco's after all - supposedly the best ice cream parlour in Venice. By then, I was so cold that a gelato was the last thing on my mind!

I feel so sad that I cannot even visit the place most dear to my heart without bringing all these senseless worries with me. Who, on their deathbed, wishes that they had spent more time worrying? It puts me off from going anywhere at all. Will I become a complete hermit, never venturing forth to see the world, kept a prisoner by these fears?

It rained...

But it wasn't all misery. I did catch some of the 'Italian spirit' of living life to the full - the bursting flavours of the food, their devotion to family, the monumental artworks. I hope it can inspire me to introduce more colour and light into my own life, whether it is in my paintings or in the kitchen.

The best place I ate at in Venice was Cocaeta - a tiny creperie off the main tourist drag. It really is an Aladdin's cave filled with sweet and savoury ingredients, enough to make over 100 different combinations. On my first visit, I (eventually!) chose courgette, aubergine, cream cheese and walnut cream. The first bite was sensational - rich and sensual, everything bouncing off each other. Now this was real food.

I felt a shadow watching me mournfully from a distance. Stuff you Anna I thought. You would never have let me enjoy this.

Here's hope for the future.

At the cross roads again: will I have a half-life or finally find freedom?

"And life goes on..."

Such a true phrase.  I spend nine months preparing for my Walk of Witness but now that the challenge is done, life goes on. As the world turns and puts even more days between the walk's completion and the present, its significance seems to pale and it becomes harder and harder to reconnect to those moments of true peace that I felt on the journey.

Life goes on. And as I take my eye off the ball, Anna starts to worm her way back in.

I have just spent a few days with my parents in the house I grew up in. It has been a tense time, for reasons not entirely down to myself (including my father having sprained his ankle) but I do feel mostly responsible. When you live alone, it is easy to kid yourself that you are 'managing fine', and keeping your illness under control, like a high-maintenance pet. But when you are living at close quarters with others, it is more difficult to keep up obsessive behaviours and compulsive food rules. 

I know that my parents concern stems from their love for me. But it doesn't stop me from getting frustrated when my actions upset them, even if I can predict it in advance. I should have known that taking advantage of a half price sale on 10 calorie jellies would upset my mum ("I thought you had stopped counting calories..."). And that wearing a slightly tighter T shirt would prompt a lecture from my dad on how important it is for me to maintain my weight. I can't hide anything from them, even as I slip back into restrictive habits. My mum soon noticed that I hadn't been having my usual dried fruit and nuts with my breakfast, or that I often skipped my lunchtime treat and after-noon snacks. Whereas my dad picked up that I have been trying to do longer runs than on my last visit home, to make up for not being able to go to the gym.

And of course it makes them anxious. They can see, all too easily, that they are losing their daughter again to anoreixa. I can't bear to upset them, but the guilt is becoming insurmountable again. I long to enjoy a slice of cake or a nice dessert (that wasn't from the weight watchers range) but as soon as I put it in my mouth I would detest myself for being so greedy and fat,fat,fat... My life is shrinking again into a cycle of compulsive exercise, calorie counting and becoming increasingly preoccupied with food: a half-life. A selfish life that hurts others. A life where one of my favourite pastimes is to prowl the aisles of supermarkets, lingering by the sugary goods, but without buying anything. I have been rotten company these past few days - tired, irritable and distant. When my poor mum has tried to encourage me, pointing out the different foods we have in the house, I have just snapped or turned away, not wanting to be tempted by it all.

This can't go on. 

But I have a chance to get back on the right path. Tomorrow I depart for my proper 'holiday' - over a week in the place most dear to my heart: Venice. The place where I am happiest and feel closest to God. I won't be able to run, let alone gym, and all I can do is be open to receive whatever blessings God will give me as I spend time in the holy places there. The light on the water is magical and in it I can hope to be reborn. 

For once, maybe, I can be nearly normal...or at least find some happiness. Hopefully it will give me space to think and draw strength....if only it could be enough to finally throw off this demon. 

We will see. I wish you a good week. 

The Walk of Witness - finished and yet only just started

It is done. Over eighty miles, 8 days of walking in all weathers and here I am, back in my flat in Sheffield. I still feel strangely disconnected from everything, as though I can't settle now without the rhythm of my feet moving beneath me.

And yet I have returned with an even deeper love of the 'tranquil wildness' of the White Peak. When the sun shines it can be truly breath taking. Day one was particularly varied - first the dramatic rock formations on Froggat and Curbar edge, then through the stately grounds of Chatsworth House, then past the idyllic village of Edensor then finally into Bakewell, crowded with day trippers getting their fill of Bakewell Pudding. But there were so many beautiful moments throughout the whole walk. Shaded rivers overhung with lush foliage. The eerie ancientness of Stanton Moor, where the prehistoric Nine Ladies Stone Circle and stone quarries bear witness to the lost generations that sculpted the land. Tiny ancient churches, where I would sit quietly to breathe in the profound sense of peace. Dramatic river valleys, with hidden caves and carpets of wildflowers. Sudden wildlife encounters - buzzards and kestrels overhead, a hare springing up by my path, a fox dancing across the field like a flash of flame, so many hidden songbirds singing out their hearts...

 The Eagle Stone near Curbar Edge and the Cork Stone on Stanton Moor

But there were testing times, especially when the weather was foul. Heavy rain quickly turned the romantic steep-sided dales treacherously muddy and rocky, slowing my progress to a crawl. Loneliness was a heavy burden: without anyone to lift my spirits, my mood often plummeted as I slopped and slipped through endless mud and drizzle. It was all too easy at times to slip into despairing and cursing myself. But raging did nothing to help the situation - when you are in the middle of nowhere, all you can do is keep going. My worst moment came when I was blundering around a field in the rain and couldn't find the gate to get out. I was cold, wet through, miserable and faced with a long slog across empty moors before I reached any shelter. So when a cross-looking farmer came out, it was the last straw. But seeing how upset and wet I was, he immediately invited me to come in for a cup of tea!

Food was a struggle at times - it's amazing how many villages I passed through that had a pub (or two!) but no shop. Thankfully my parents met me at one point to restock my dwindling supplies, but it was still difficult to cater to my 'food rules' and restrictive diet. Desperate for something green, I even supplemented some of my meals with dandelion leaves, whilst freshly-picked blackberries satiated my 'fruit fix'. All in all, I coped although having tinned fish every day was beginning to get a little monotonous.

Wildlife encounters - prehistoric friend, a Water Vole sculpture and a sleepy hedgehog in Tideswell Churchyard

Fittingly, on the last day of the walk I ascended Win Hill, whose photograph is the backdrop to this blog. With the weather forecast being dire, I wrapped myself up in all my waterproof layers and trudged out into the grey, brooding morning. As I trodged up the steep slope, I thought of all the things I wouldn't miss - the loneliness, permanently wet feet, sheep poo, over-curious cows, tinned fish every day.... and the things I would: waking up somewhere different each day, the sound of running water, sudden bursts of sunlight through the trees, birdsong as a constant companion.

Youlgreave

I ascended up into the cloud layer. I remembered how the last time I was up here, it was in the middle of a thunderstorm. I really must try and come here one day when I can actually see the view. I could make out the summit on the horizon- a distinct, almost conical mass - and headed towards it.

As I reached the trig point, the clouds above cleared and the sun broke forth. The surrounding mists fled away down the hill and the wind dropped, leaving a hushed silence. I was alone, on top of a mountain, watching as distant summits, fields and lakes appeared and disappeared in the rolling cloud. Around me, beyond the oceans of purple heather, cows and sheep lay down in the green grass, their bodies turned golden by the sunlight. The words of a hymn I came across in one of the many ancient churches I visited came to me, repeating in a gentle refrain:

It is well, it is well with my soul
It is well, it is well with my soul

Anorexia has blessed me in one way. Whilst the disease has corrupted my mind and withered my body, it cannot touch my soul. At moments like these, I feel it deep within, eternal, like the bottom of the ocean which remains still even as the tempest rages on the surface. And this is how I know I will endure, that God will heal me fully when I cast off this body and mind and go to join him in heaven. This hope gives me strength for every day.

And that I suppose is the message of life. All our strivings on earth - for money, fame, recognition, a legacy - will come to naught. We bring nothing into this world and take nothing out of it. The best we can hope for is to bear witness - by preparing our minds to receive and putting ourselves in places outside our normal comforts - to moments where we are touched by the forces greater than ourselves; love, hope and peace. And let them change us.

My walk goes on.

Thorpe Cloud

Frustrated...but it could be worse

I really should know by now that trying to get a straight answer out of the healthcare system can be like trying to wring blood out of a stone.

I had hoped for a final decision at my long-awaited "Health Review" meeting yesterday. After all enough people were there - my GP, mental health therapist, supervisor, counsellor and various representatives from the University support services. Unfortunately, the key representative from the Department was on holiday. Which meant that I was never going to get a definite yes/no answer.

This is because there are two parts to my "return" - I have to be declared medically fit by the health services and then the Department has to decide whether it actually wants me back. Which apparently is not guaranteed by merely being 'medically fit'.

At least the first part could be deciced yesterday. But it took long enough. I felt like a criminal awaiting their sentence as I sat outside waiting to be invited in to join the discussion. As they talked on and on, my nerves mounted - it was way past the time they told me to come, clearly it wasn't straightforward.... a kind nurse noticed my distress and sat with me, filling me in on all the Olympic action I've missed (it's difficult to keep up when you don't have a telly!)

Finally I was allowed inside. After finding out that I couldn't be given a clear answer from the Department that day, the medical team gave their verdict. Apparently I haven't maintained my target BMI for long enough to be able to go back at the beginning of October (the earliest time I could have done) and that the best I can aim for is mid-November. IF the Department accept me. And only IF my weight doesn't dip in the slightest under the target BMI. So I am still under a cloud of uncertainty. Worse still, I left my job at the college in July so have nothing to keep me occupied (and earning) over October. What if the Department decide I can't come back? Should I be looking into a Plan B and start applying for another, permanent, job?

I just wish it would all end!

Almost packed...

At least I have something to take my mind off things for the next week - my "Walk of Witness" has finally arrived. Tomorrow, I will take an early bus to Hathersage to start my 80-mile wander around the Peak District (see the page "The Walk" on the menu to the right). It should give me some perspective at least - there are bigger and greater things in life than a PhD and I have to believe that God will accomplish his will in me with or without this qualification.

But right now, I just want to KNOW. Will I or won't I go back?

So it's back to the waiting room. Best foot forward...

Countdown...one week to go

This time next week I will know for sure whether I will be going back to do my PhD or not. On Friday 19th August, I will have my "Health Review Meeting" attended by my supervisors, GP, mental health worker, counsellor and various representatives from the University support services. It feels like I am about to go on trial.

I am nervous. Although I hit my weight target two weeks ago, it has wobbled a little since then; fortunately I managed to pull it back up pretty quickly, but it does show that I can't afford to be complacent. I'm hoping that the things I have done this year will also be taken into account - working as a science technician in a busy college, completing a four-day hike in the Lake District, cutting down on my cardio workouts, making more time for rest, etc. At the end of the day though, the weight is the most important thing.

And then there is the mental side of things. One of the tricky things about recovering from anorexia is that the disease can so easily mutate into something else - another eating disorder, an exercise obsession, a "pure-eating, healthy living" lifestyle, etc. (described brilliantly by this blog post on the phases of recovery - see Level 6). Anoreixa will use anything it can to get back into your head. And I am worried it is happening to me again. This past week, I have been working on a report about the devastating impacts that diets high in meat, dairy and processed foods have on the environment. I can't help but take it personally - if I had any morals, then surely I would reduce my intake of these! Those chocolate bars had palm oil in - I am destroying the Amazon Rainforest! Think of all the plastic packacging I get through on my yoghurts - surely these end up as microparticles that kill seabirds! It is the same with health messages; I worry that the "treats" I enjoy as part of my diet are actually skyrocketing my cholesterol, eradicating my good gut bacteria, setting me up for heart failure, contributing to dementia, and so on and on.

All of this has steadily built up over the past few days to the point that I feel compelled to cut out, or at least cut down on, my sugary treats and snacks. Never mind that, given that I don't eat starchy carbs, these are a major source of calories and that getting rid of them would leave me with mostly fruit and vegetables. No matter that, as a good friend of mine tries to remind me, I am a "special case" with a body that is still under the optimum weight and so would still consider itself "starved". But now I can't put anything in my mouth without worrying. It's just not worth the stress and guilt.

So I am having a little "sugar-detox" at the moment, with the intention of limiting processed foods to occasional treats, rather than an every day indulgence. Although part of me feels virtuos, I am also sad because I don't know whether this is me making the decision, or whether anorexia has slipped in through the back door and settled into my mind again. It's as though every time I come across a diet related message, the anorexia says "Aha! Yes! I can use this to hurt her!" All I know is that it did feel so wonderful to be able to have treats in my diet again, after making them 'off-limits' for so long. Is this a step forward towards heath and happiness, or a step back towards deprivation?

Off-limits again?

Another illustration of just how cunning this disease can be.... I finally realised where my growing preoccupation about my tummy came from. I had never been concerned before with how I appeared to others (only how much I weighed) so I couldn't understand why I felt so envious when I saw girls with toned and sculpted abs at the gym. The feeling that I should be like this came, ironically enough, from the questionnaire I have to fill in every now and then which assesses my current 'anorexic state'. This is a almost never-ending series of statements which I have to give a frequency score for (e.g. never, once a month, every day, etc.) Quite a few of these statements realted to "the desire to have a completely flat stomach". I used to just cross 'never' for these without thinking about it, but on an unconscious level, the diseased part of my mind got the message that this was how I should be thinking. As though the questionnaire was holding up a set of ideals which my anorexic self seized upon.

It is pretty pitiful: I don't know what I want anymore - or at least, I don't know if the things I want come from me, or the demon in me. Which makes it pretty hard to feel good about any of the 'choices' I make.

But it doesn't seem so important right now - I just want to get abck to my PhD. Only once I know the outcome of the meeting, can I begin to challenge anything else.

Thanks for reading.

Managing myself...with a little help from my little friends

I'm pleased to say that my bloating/gas problem has been much better lately. I still don't really have a clue why my stomach inflates so much at times - but I can't complain at the moment. It's much more comfortable when I don't feel as though I have been blown up with a bicycle pump, and this has let me relax a bit more.

It seems my saviour - or rather, saviours - are those that work on the very microscopic scale. I was on the verge of going on an elimation diet (no diary, wheat or processed foods) when my parents convinced me to give probiotics a try again. I'm always a bit wary of "health fads": we've all seen those adverts that seem too good to be true ("Raspberry ketones can help you loose a stone in two weeks! Only £50 a bottle"). Yet probiotics have been around for a while now and have some science to back them up. What really convinced me though was my dad giving me a packet of Yakult drinks and a bottle of pills called - rather appropriately - 'Mightidophilus'.

Even after only two days, I felt different: less like a ruminant and more like a human again. Things have improved since then and now I would describe my gassy condition as 'manageable' - still not quite right, and a bit uncomfortable at times, but largely something I can ignore. I do have bad moments though- for instance, either an apple or some almonds triggered a bad reaction the other day. Nevertheless things are much much better than they were! Yesterday I listened to a BBC Radio Four Food Programme special on our gut microbiomes and these have convinced me that we are only just beginning to understand how important our millions of 'little friends' are for our health. It's well worth a listen!

The clue's in the name...

In other areas, I'm not managing myself quite so well. Some calorie-counting rules have sneaked back in, making me restrict my treats and suppers to certain amounts again. It saddens me to see how weak I am to these obsessions but at least I haven't gone back to the stage of weighing out every last raisin.  Meanwhile, in the gym I am just keeping my workouts within a time limit, although this is probably a little longer than it should be, especially for when I go back to start my PhD.

And I have to keep on top of the weight situation as well. If I wobble, I have to correct it straight away - I don't have a safety net. I should clarify that although I hit my target weight on my last doctor's appointment, the final decision for whether I can go back will be made in my big "Review Meeting" in August. This will involve everyone who has a say in my care - my supervisor, GP, mental health therapist, care coordinator, etc. At the very least, I MUST maintain my weight until then. Yet there is part of me that still secretly rejoices if I do lose a little weight, that tells me this is the way to boost my self-esteem. This is the part of me that would have me starve myself to nothing, that whispers that it would be the best outcome if I dwindled to nothing and made myself as small and inoffensive as possible.

But then there is a part of me that loves feeling strong, being able to do press ups in circuits classes and having the energy to power up the hills of this fair city. Sometimes I don't feel so much a person, more a meeting place between a good voice and a bad one. And it is an exhausting place to be sometimes...

Thanks for reading - may you have a good week ahead.

Links:
BBC Radio Four Food Programmes "That Gut Feeling", Part 1 and Part 2.

On my way

I didn't know what to expect. My therapist didn't say a word as she noted down the figure on the scales then led me out of the clinic room. I was resigned to the outcome whatever it was; I simply, didn't have any fight left in me to contest it. 

"Well Caroline, you've finally reached the target BMI of 17"

It seemed an age before I could process this. Eventually I managed to speak : "Does this mean I can go back to do my PhD?"

"It looks like it, yes".

I should have been dancing on the ceiling, or completely overcome with relief. Instead I felt numb and flat. Why?! Weren't these the very words I had been waiting since October to hear?

Yes, it IS a monumental relief. I can finally start to look forward to going back to do my own research ( instead of just writing about other people's!) I won't have to leave Sheffield or look for another job. It IS wonderful!

But somehow, I am disappointed. I think I expected more from this year, as though simply having been given all this time to "get better" would automatically bring about some profound changes. Ok, I have put some weight on. But has anything really changed?

1. I have still cut out almost an entire food group from my diet ( starchy carbs) and have no intention of introducing them again

2. I am still unhappy with my body shape, with my 'wide' legs and bloated tummy

3. I still get a lot of gas and wind, which blows my stomach up and makes me even more depressed about my shape. I also still get water retention at times.

4. I am staring to slip back into bad, calorie-counting habits, restricting how much I eat at times so that it doesn't exceed a certain total

5. My exercise compulsion is stronger than ever

This last point is probably the worst. A few months ago, I had such good intentions - two days off a week and a mini- holiday every month. All fallen by the wayside. Each day is miserable until I can get my workout done and then I can focus on other things - until the next day rolls round again.

It seems nothing has really changed in my mind. I feel like a fraud when people say "well done" or call me a strong woman. I feel as though I haven't been strong or courageous enough - I have only done the bare minimum, and not really challenged my demons. 

If I am stuck like this for life, I deserve it. 

But maybe I should just take things one step at a time. For now, this is enough. 

Getting out of control again...

I realise that's been a while since my last post. To be honest, I felt quite flat after the conference in Brighton, so perhaps I was waiting until I was in a more positive frame of mind before I wrote again. But this hasn't really happened - instead I feel like I am going round and round in circles.

First though - how did I cope with the conference? In terms of the work, it was very full-on but I just about managed to cover all the sessions and interviews that I wanted to do (for a full round up, see my other blog). As for the food, I set myself some general rules to stop myself from panicking in the face of the onslaught of temptations every day. The breakfast buffet: avoid the pancake bar, pastry stand and the cooked/fried zone and stick to fruit and yoghurt. Lunchtime: Make friends with the catering staff and persuade them to make me a simple salad on the basis of not being able to eat bread/rice/potatoes/etc. Avoid the sleep-inducing warm pudding. Dinnertime: supplement little bits of whatever is on offer with copious amounts of salad bought from a supermarket. So despite the fact that Brighton's most famous culinary offerings are fish and chips, Brighton Rock and ice cream, I actually ended up eating quite well.

But it was unfortunate that everything I ate still had to be "earned" each day through exercise. Even if it meant I only got 5 hours sleep, I still hauled myself out of bed each morning before 6 am to hit the hotel gym. The facilities were very limited, but with treadmills, watt bikes and a range of dumbbells, I had all I needed to work up a sweat. Not to mention the cardio HIIT routines I can do with just my iPad and a bit of floor space.

How unbelievably sad. Here I am, a 25 year old woman attending a conference as a professional writer and instead of just being able to enjoy the experience, I have to make it difficult for myself. Anyone else could say "I'm here to work, so I will focus on that and make sure I get enough rest" but not me. Naturally, it was completely unsustainable and I was exhausted by the end of it all.

Am I going to have this all my life? Will I always be a slave to the fear that I will inure myself and so not be able to work out and then what will I do?! How could I eat??!!

Conference 'Fuel'

And so the exercise obsession is digging its claws in again. You may remember that not so long ago, I was having two days off each week (Monday and Friday). COMPLETELY off, I didn't even go in the gym! But then I though, maybe I could do a few weights on Monday - it would still be a day off really but it would help me improve faster. Then it became a few weights and a bit of cardio. Then I started to do them on Friday too. And now it is turning into quite a bit of cardio and weights on top...
I can't actually remember the last time I had a day off now.

After all this time, I ought to know better and to be able to nip this in the bud. For one thing - if/when I start my PhD again, I simply won't have time to spend this long in the gym. So I have started to 'clock watch' a bit more closely now - I have to finish within 1 and a half hours (including warm up) as this is the most I could fit in before starting work in the morning. My trouble is that once I add something extra into my routine, it becomes the new "normal", so I feel guilty if I don't do it next time. So workouts get longer and longer and become even more of an emotional challenge to get through.

Each night, before I fall asleep, I wonder what it would be like to be different, to not have these obsessions. Imagine only going to the gym when you felt like it...imagine not going at all!!!

Exercise in itself is good, but I fear it may destroy my hopes to return to my studies. Tomorrow I will effectively find out if I have met my target in time. And if I haven't .... what will I have to show for all those hours in the gym? All those times when I diverted guilt by giving in to the compulsion to work out.... it won't match up to the grief and anger I will feel towards myself.

Fingers crossed.

On location....coping with a conference

One of the best things about a career in science is the opportunity to travel - for field work, to visit other labs, to share knowledge at conferences etc. Right now, I am in Brighton for the Annual Meeting of the Society for Experimental Biology. I have been invited as an official 'science reporter', to scout round the different sessions for interesting stories for the society's Bulletin Magazine. A week of being immersed in exciting new research, meeting fascinating people, networking, public engagement...it should be the dream.

 So why does my first thought have to be How am I going to cope with the FOOD?!

It's hard to remember back to when I could go away completely spontaneously without giving the catering a second thought. But now, whether  it is for a day workshop, a visit home, a holiday abroad...the food arrangements are always a source of worry. I veer between wanting to bring EVERYTHING with me including the kitchen sink, and  wishing I could just turn up and accept whatever is on offer - like everyone else!

The main problem is my refusal to eat so many foods - pasta, rice, bread, potatoes, noodles - any starchy carbs in other words! As I am being put up in a rather nice hotel, I'm not too worried about breakfast; it's sure it be a better offering than toast and cereal. But lunch is always a minefield - will it just be rows and rows of polystyrene-like sandwiches? Will there be a TESCO nearby where I could nip out for a salad? Meanwhile, what to do for the evening meals? Unfortunately, avoidance has to be my strategy when it comes to formal dinners. Who knows what ideas and conversations I will sacrifice just because I couldn't face the food?

This time, I have adopted a compromise and bought a very select range of supplies, including fruit, a lettuce and some 'safe' ( calorie controlled) treats to help me avoid the dessert table.  I hate being confronted with buffet tables groaning with sweet treats - all mocking me because I can't help myself with cheerful abandon. If I go over the limit I set myself...guilt guilt guilt ensues. 

As for exercise...well, wouldn't it have been nice to have had a week off the gym, so that I could focus purely on my task with all my energy? But no. I still can't quite make that jump of going so long without exercise. My workout gear is in my bag, and I have been assured by the website that the hotel has a reasonable gym. As long as I am up at six, I should be able to fit in a workout before the breakfast meeting...and then a long , busy, tiring day on my feet that stretches into the evening. Why do I have to make things so much harder than they have to be?

Will I have this for all of my life?! Will I ever be able to go away without worrying about working out or eating?! This makes me feel unforgivably preoccupied with food - a greedy person that doesn't act 'normally'. But then again, recovering anorexics aren't the only people who might get anxious about uncertain catering arrangements. Those with allergies, fussy children, special nutrition requirements or who follow very particular diets ( such as the Paleo diet) may very well bring some supplies with them. So where does one draw the line between 'eating disorder' and 'taking a greater interest in their food'? Am I really so very different to someone who brings their own tea bags or coffee because 'the hotel stuff tastes rubbish'?

It wouldn't  seem much of an issue except I still have over a kilogram to gain to meet my target weight. And if I am not there by my next doctors appointment, things do not look good. 

I will let you know how I get on. Wish me luck and Thank You for reading!

Body Crisis...

I've left it a while since my last post because I have been struggling recently with my body-image. I cannot help but compare myself to others everywhere I go (but especially the gym) and I am often tormented with thought of "if only" and "why can't I be like that?"

The big issue is my stomach - especially last week when I had terrible bloating. This is a recurring problem that plagues me on and off, but it hadn't been this bad for a while. I don't mean "a little trapped wind" - it feels as though a balloon has been inflated inside me and my stomach becomes hideously swollen - just like this example.  It would be upsetting and uncomfortable for anyone but with my deep-rooted insecurities, it is especially distressing. I try to tell myself that it is just gas and not fat, that it doesn't mean that I am greedy...but it is hard. I can't even bear to look at myself and eating is the last thing I feel like doing.  I dream of being like those other girls in the gym, with taut abs and rippling six packs.

At it's worst it makes me despise my body and want to tear out my stomach with a knife. Or to die and finally be free of this revulsive prison.

But I have been fortunate enough to receive good advice from friends, the internet and even an "anti-bloat" special article in The Metro(!). I wish there was a simple quick fix, but it seems that a holistic approach that incorporates my whole diet and habits is the only way. Things have been a lot better so far this week but this could be due to any or all of the following: avoiding gum, not eating cabbage, doing special "tummy exercises", no fizzy water, trying to increase my fibre intake, more sleep...etc.!

Body Crisis...will I never be free of these tormenting thoughts?

 As for my legs...they still look much bigger than those of most ladies in the gym. But when Anna starts to whisper Big fat legs...Big FAT LEGS.... I remember my time in the Lake District, of climbing up those summits. They might be fat but they are mountain climbers! I whip back at her. So far, she hasn't come up with anything against that.

Meanwhile, there is a noticeable change in my arms - instead of looking concave and "pinched in", they are starting to show some flesh and round out a little. Surprisingly, this doesn't upset me as it might have done - simply because I can equate the change in appearance to having more power! The resistance training is paying off: as an example, I started with only 5kg on the chest press but now I am up to 17.5 kg. And I have found that I like the feeling of being able to manage things more easily, whether it is carrying my shopping, bell ringing, opening the heavy doors at college or doing press ups.

Perhaps the first stage isn't to fix my body, but to fix my mind and just find peace with who God made me to be.

But as for my mind...I hate the way food still dominates my thoughts so much. If I were an alcoholic, I could swear to stay away from the stuff, hide it under lock and key and never think of it again. But the need for food is constant and comes round every day; it rears its head in every social occasion. I feel guilty for thinking about it, feel guilty for enjoying it...even though it is a reward earned through hard exercise.

What should a person wish for above all for themselves? Money? Fame? Prosperity? Health?
What about that most blessed and elusive thing ...inner peace. I have a long way to go.

A final point - I have been writing up some of my back story and you can find it on the menu to the right of this page. This isn't a narcissist gesture - I certainly don't think my "life story" is worthy of anyone's time to read, and there are much worse histories of anorexia available online. Rather, I needed to straighten things out in my own mind as I realised that I have blanked out the more painful episodes so forcefully that the order of events keeps getting muddled in my mind. So I had to hash it all out for myself. But if you are curious to read it for yourself, you are very welcome to!

Have a good week - whatever our changeable weather throws at us!

A deciding week....and a small measure of victory

After exerting myself so much during my trip to the Lakes two weeks ago, I was positive that I would have gained something during this past (rather less active) week. But when I checked today there was no change. I still have a fair few pounds to gain within two weeks.

Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised: now the adrenaline has worn off, my appetite has diminished with it. But now it really IS crunch time. If I haven't made any measurable progress by this time next week, my PhD could really be in doubt. So it's back to the drawing board, pushing more calories into my meals and trying to cut back on the gym. It doesn't help that I experience such bitter conflicts in my mind. I feel tremendous guilt at times for eating processed/'junk' foods, even though I limit these to treats. Most of my meals are quite plain, with no sauces, dressings or condiments - and based on stereotypical 'diet food'. The other day I managed to have three different kinds of cabbage with my dinner without planning to - Chinese cabbage, red cabbage and sauerkraut (white cabbage). Not exactly the fast-train to weight-gain...

I really want to end my job at the college soon as it makes me very depressed, especially as it is nearly the end of term and there are so few lessons on. I had wanted to hand in my notice next week but I will only be able to do this if I make demonstrable progress during this week.

I have also been feeling very down about my body shape, especially my stomach which I see as hideously distended and bloated. Going to the gym is becoming ever more painful: I can't help but compare myself to the instructors with their toned and sculpted tummies. But I have had a minor victory in my exercise regime. I knew I was becoming too obsessed with the calorie counter on the spin bikes, so much so that I would stay behind after the lesson, pedalling away until the counter passed the value from last time. These 'add-ons' were becoming longer and longer, meaning I usually didn't cool down afterwards and got very upset if I wasn't "trying hard enough".

Bane of my life - how to ignore those calories?

But then the bike that I always, always used broke and I was forced to change. And of course - ALL THE BIKES ARE DIFFERENT! The resistance varies between each one so the calorie counters all give different values for the same amount of work. I was getting very distressed about this, trying out all the different bikes, trying to find "the one" when something just snapped. I'm fed up with this - I'm just not going to count any more! After all, the former bikes didn't even HAVE a calorie counter- I just went by feel and the amount I sweated out! But how to ignore it when it was there, glaring at me?

Solution - it just happens that the elastic strap on the locker keys fits snugly round the spin bike dashboard, meaning I can conceal the calorie number whilst still keeping an eye on my revs and the clock. This might seem like an entry for the Journal of Incredibly Insignificant Doings but it is a real achievement for me to "let go" of this compulsion and I already feel a lot happier when I go to the classes.

Solution: Cover it with the locker key strap!

Of course, I am still dodging the real issue here, which is my unhealthy obsession with exercise itself. But I feel that is only a demon I will be able to face once I get to my target. Emotionally, I only have so much strength so I have to focus on one goal at a time.

Thanks for reading, I hope you have a good week!

PS. I have started to write up the "Backstory" to how I got here, with all my baggage of negative behaviours and habits. You can find it on the pages listed to the right of you are interested.

On top of the world! (or at least a LOT of Wainwrights...)

Why is it when you stop that everything starts to hurt? I wondered, sitting on the grassy bank at YHA Langdale yesterday at the end of an incredible four-day journey.

When I set out from that very hostel on the Tuesday before, I had felt very tense inside about the challenge ahead. My pack dug heavily into my shoulders - would I really be able to heave all this weight over the fells? But the sun was shining and the expansive views going up Fairfield and Helvellyn simply took my breath away. It was only when I had to descend the notorious Striding Edge that things got a bit hairy. I normally love a bit of scrambling but carrying so much on my back made me much less manoeuvrable and I took a fall on the loose scree. I was lucky to come away with only cuts and bruises and made it to YHA Glenridding that night.

Awesome views going up towards Fairfield

Next morning, the world had completely changed: the cloud was low and the wind was up, shrouding the hills in rolling mists. Even if the weather was clear, I had a difficult day ahead: after climbing back up Helvellyn, I then had to make my way along the ridge before taking a bearing to get down a loose scree slope and find the path to Keswick. Even in clear conditions, it would be difficult but in a whiteout it would be near impossible.

Making my way up Swirral Edge was an ethereal experience. In the thick cloud, I couldn't see more than ten metres in front and the rocks were treacherously slippery from the drizzle.  The higher I climbed, the stronger the wind blew, forcing me off balance and battering me with my map case. Just keep going UP I told myself, trying not to think of the sheer drop that lay unseen on both sides.  I had no idea how far I had left to climb until I practically walked into the trig point on the summit. Barely able to stand against the gale, I crawled into the refuge to get out of the wind. What now? Getting up was the easy part. There was no way I could make my way across the ridge in these conditions.

Grisdale Tarn, near Helvellyn

Crouched there in the middle of the storm, I had never felt so lost and alone. No one knew where I was at that moment - if anything happened to me, it could be an age before anyone found me. God please help me to get off this mountain safely! I prayed earnestly. Opening my eyes, I saw a man emerge out of the fog. What he was doing on the top of Helvellyn in these conditions, I cannot say. He came and sat next to me and agreed that it would be too risky for me to attempt the ridge. He led me down the mountainside through the storm until we finally came out below the clouds and I could see the track to Thirlmere. Then he simply vanished as quickly as he came. To this day, I still wonder  if he was an angel in disguise.,.

After amending my route slightly, I made it to the YHA at Keswick. After the utter isolation of Glenridding, it was good to be able to shop for new supplies. The next day, the weather had reverted back to glorious sunshine and I had a superfluous day, drinking in the views from Catbells, High Spy and Dale Head. Even more wonderfully, my extended family came out to meet me on the descent to YHA Borrowdale. The last day was a killer though - around 15 miles and ? Ascents - . It was daunting - but then the adrenaline took hold of me, propelling me over Glaramara, Esk Pike, Crinkle Crags and finally the Pike of Blisco where I stopped for a breather to watch the parascenders. But when I started on the final stretch back to the start at YHA Langdale, the fatigue started to kick in. I never knew feet could ache so much!

Going up Catbells

Amazingly, I managed to complete the walk. Perhaps those hours in the gym weren't a waste after all?! And now that I have tasted the 'Big Fells', I am hungry for more. It feels as though a whole new world of possibilities has opened up. Despite years of abuse from me, my body kept giving and answering when I asked it for more. For once, we felt like a team, working towards a shared goal instead of driven apart by the demon of anorexia.

On Bowfell with Scafell Pike in the background

Crucially, I didn't lose much (if any) weight during the trip (adrenaline does give you an appetite, especially for trail mix!). And it was so refreshing to break my tight routines and have a healthier relationship around food. One of the things I will miss the most is how simple life was for those days - eat, walk, eat, walk, shower, eat, bed -  repeat! No barrage of emails, no competing demands flying in head, not even any to-do lists...just fresh air, bird song and mountains. It has made me realise that I need to slim my life down and make it less complicated...and keep up this habit of early nights!

So overall, things look good for my big challenge in August. But I still have to make my weight target to get back to my PhD. It's not over yet....

Thanks for reading ! :))

Best foot forward....

It's challenge time! This week I am heading off to the Lake District with the aim of covering 50 miles and 24 mountains in four days. Along the way, I will be staying at the YHAs at Langdale, Helvellyn, Keswick and Borrowdale, and also with my lovely extended family in Windermere. My route is based on a walk featured in the YHA's magazine, The Wanderer (see photo below).

It should give me a good indication of whether I have a chance of completing the 80-mile White Peak Way in August. But it will also push me out of my comfort zone in other ways. Will I be able to cope with going so long without any intensive sessions at the gym? Will I be able to stand up to the inevitable gales and freezing temperatures of exposed summits? And what about that dreaded subject - the food.

My route may feature oodles of Wainwrights, but it doesn't pass by many shops! It may be that I will have to eat foods which I normally avoid. I can only pack what I can carry so will have to be strategic and include some high-calorie options. Given that I am still a little off from my target, I have to be sure that, not only do I maintain weight, but I actually put some on as well. This may be difficult as I have no idea how many calories I will use. To me, walking just doesn't compare with blasting through an hour's spin or cardio HIIT session. But ask me after the first 20 miles and I may have changed my mind!

It would be quite an achievement though, if I could just arrive at the next hostel, after a glorious day on the fells, and happily choose something off the menu like a normal person. No worrying about rich sauces, no asking to go "potatoless", no hiding the pudding menu before I can see it and be "tempted". I know I used to be able to do this when I was a child...but it's been far, far too long.

Fingers crossed for good weather! I will let you know how I managed when I return - I'm off to the land of no WIFI!

A milestone at last! (so why can't I be happy?!)

Every time I go to work, I board a tram bound for a place called (rather romantically I think!) as "Halfway". And now I have finally arrived there myself.

I am past halfway towards my target weight for getting back onto my PhD course! And given that I initially spent a lot of time going backwards at first, it becomes even more of an achievement. I am already feeling the benefits: at my last weight-training session, I was able to move up to a heavier weight for three of my exercises and I have been hitting higher speeds on the spin bikes too. Even outside the gym, I generally feel more powerful, more present and more alive.

So it's excellent news! Why then am I not dancing on air? Instead, why has my mood been so wretched for the past few weeks? I don't like to use the word "depression" as I feel this term gets bandied about too easily - there is a real distinction between clinical depression and "feeling a bit down". But when you feel so overwhelmed with sadness that you literally stop dead in the middle of the street and burst into tears, then something is clearly wrong. It embarrasses me when I get upset in front of others (and I thank the three strangers who kindly escorted me home), but I am so tired and drained and worn out all the time that I simply cannot hold it all in any more. Just one of the many, many things 'Anna' has robbed me of is a stiff upper lip!

I've also been having a bit of a body crises. My stomach still gives me grief at times, becoming so bloated and filled with gas that I wish I could take a knife and rip it out of my chest. There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it - although perhaps that tin of rice pudding was a bad idea.... I oscillate between getting fired up about the latest natural remedy - probiotics? turmeric? sauerkraut? - and just feeling resigned to being plagued by it for life.

It makes me feel fat, ugly and grossly distorted. Everywhere I go, I see people who are thinner than me and the gym seems to be populated by lithe figures with gazelle legs. Surely all these people weigh less than me?! So why are they able to go to university and do all they want to do and I can't? Surely it can't be true? Is it all in my head? I don't know anymore - I can't tell what's real and what's fiction - what is truth and what is a lie whispered by 'Anna'.

I'm sorry to end on such a miserable note. But I promise a more upbeat post soon, when I will be outlining my challenge for next week. Five whole days away from the gym: instead, I will be in the Lake District for my training walk for the big trek in August. Just hoping I haven't bitten off more than I can chew...

Thanks for reading, enjoy the rest of this week!

Bumps in the journey

Since the 'epiphany moment' of my last post, I'm afraid things haven't continued quite as smoothly as you might have hoped. At first things looked promising - I made a real effort to increase my calorie load and I did manage to gain some weight. And rather than planning and calorie-counting all my meals in advance, it was wonderful to do this intuitively by listening to the rhythms of my appetite and adding more when my body gave me hunger. Frustratingly, this never seems to follow any logical pattern: at times when I really ought to be hungry, I'm often not and at other times I eat a good meal only to feel even more hungry afterwards!

But then I pushed things too far by introducing foods which I know my stomach struggles to handle. Either a bowl of cereal or a pack of spicy mushrooms put my stomach out of sorts and I felt sick, miserable and bloated for days. Eating was the last thing I felt I should do and my calorie intake slipped a bit. So it looks as though curries and Wheatabix may forever be off my shopping list....

Finding out just how much a pound or two weighs in the Victorian kitchen at Charlecote Park

Fortunately it had mostly cleared up by the time I travelled back to the West Midlands on Thursday to spend the weekend with my parents. But this started disastrously when, stupefied with fatigue from sleep deprivation, I struggled to choose a meal from the Chinese takeaway menu. This really upset my parents, especially my Dad, as they saw this as proof that nothing had changed: I was still the awkward, anorexic daughter who couldn't eat a normal meal with her family. In this fraught exchange, I realised how scared they were that my positive words were only that: words and no more. I can't really blame them, after all they have watched me 'start a new chapter of my life' many times before only for me to relapse again. Quite understandably, they carry real doubt that I will succeed and make it back to my PhD on time. 

Things could have gone downhill from here, but I managed to turn it around. At least our altercation made me realise that there was NO WAY I could do any exercise at home without racking the tension up sky high. So my workout gear stayed in my bag and I didn't even set the alarm. In fact, the weekend felt horrifically lazy given the gently nature of the activities we did together; a trip the cinema, wandering round a National Trust Property, visiting neighbours. I did have some guilty thoughts ('Oh gosh, right now I would be at circuits class!') but remembering the disbelief on my parent's faces spurred me on. Even when I cheered my Dad on in the local Fun Run and was confronted with the sight of hundreds of runners, I managed to keep myself from joining in!

Apparently this is a family tradition...my Dad used to come to Henley Ice Parlour as a boy

Altogether the visit could have been better, but it could have been a lot lot worse. I wish I could stop my family, and all those who are good enough to care about me, from worrying overnight but I know there is only one way I can do this. I have to keep pressing on no matter how I feel: only when I reach my target will I have earned the right to rest. 

And time is getting critical now. Time to press on.

A new body and a new mind...

Everything is different now.

For those of you who read this blog regularly (big thank you! ), this may very well be the post that you have been waiting for, 

I finally feel ready to change, ready to walk away from anoreixa and into a different life. Ready to let go and trust my body and love it for what it is, or what it is meant to be.

A lot of things have been leading up to this moment. All the people praying and hoping for me, the growing realisation that my choices do affect and hurt others, the internal gathering of everything I have read, every word of advice, every encouragement from all the people who have cared enough to get in touch.... But the crunch point came when I stepped on the scales yesterday morning.

Despite eating 'gargantuan' amounts for the past week, I hadn't gained anything.

In fact, according to my therapist, I had actually lost a little weight. In that moment, my PhD seemed to take a huge step even further away from me and something just snapped. Suddenly, counting calories just didn't seem important any more. But starting to live in a way that doesn't make those I love worry about me did. I don't want this any more. There will be no more weighing, checking food labels, measuring out, fretting. No more attitude of "Dear body you can have this many calories and no more for I must dictate control". I want to eat like I used to do as a child - intuitively, listening and responding to my body's needs. From now on, I will only use my scales when I bake cakes.

But of course, for the time being, it is still important for me to monitor my intake, if I am going to reach my target. Which begs the question: why did I lose weight? However, I'm pretty sure I have the answer to this one. All I have lost is water weight. From all the stories of recovery I have come across online, this is to be expected and it is a positive stage in recovery, one which precedes real gains. My distended stomach and bloated legs were not just in my imagination. Even before I weighed myself, I had noticed that I was noticeably leaner.

Pushing them out!

And I love it. I LOVE my new body - I feel so much more powerful and alive. I feel like I have a presence of my own again rather than being just a shadow. I am now addicted to feeling POWERFUL instead of hungry. And I am already feeling the benefits - I used to have to do press ups on my knees, but now I am on my toes. At my weights session this evening, I was able to push out more repetitions on the higher weights. It doesn't take me so long to get home from the tram stop - I pick up my feet instead of dragging them. I am determined that this is only the beginning of better things to come.

But don't get me wrong - it won't be plain sailing. 'Anna' still has a home in my mind, until I can evict her for good and clean up her mess. Meanwhile, I have a deadline to meet and I am not even halfway.

It looks as though it will be a fight to the finish, but at least my body and I are now on the same side.

Thank you for reading! :)

Going right to the wire...?

My emotions seem to have been as mixed as the weather this week. At times, I have felt stuffed, sick and bloated, despising myself and wishing I never had to eat again. These are the days when my stomach struggles to cope and balloons up uncomfortably with excess gas. But when this has finally calmed down, I have sometimes felt so different: stronger, more alive even slightly well. Chronic tiredness remains a problem (still working on getting to bed earlier) but the other day I simply powered up the hill to my home in record time. In these moments, I feel as though I stand upon the earth, rather than simply slump upon its surface.

Yet I am still dragging myself to the gym, with all the air of the condemned man walking to the gallows. Once there, I can't help comparing my shape to other people and looking at my "big fat legs" in distaste. On a more positive note, I am having fewer tearful breakdowns. The staff at the gym have been wonderful in supporting me - usually, just having someone to talk to while I do my weights is enough to take my mind off my inner turmoil and get through the session. I'm still waiting to see that massive improvement in strength in my puny arms but certain movements - press ups, planks - seem to be coming more easily!

Finally back on Kinder Scout

Last weekend, I even got out to the Peak District with my dad for a walk up Kinder Scout. I was pleased with how I managed the ascent but unfortunately I had forgotten just how windy it gets up there - there is a reason, after all, that there are so many weird rock formations up there! One of the hallmarks of anorexia is that sufferers struggle to keep warm and my hands are especially sensitive to this. Once I can't feel my fingers, I get very miserable and it takes me an age to thaw out. I need to have a serious think about how I can manage this when I attempt my walk in August...

The next time I check my weight will be a crucial point: I will only have one month left to reach my target. If I have not reached the half-way point by then, the pace will need to increase and fast. I can't afford to miss the target or I will lose my PhD, but I don't know if I am capable of eating any more than I am already, especially with my weakened stomach. But will I have the mental strength to give up my heavy-cardio exercise sessions - the hour long spin classes, the circuit training, the cross trainer?

It looks as though, rather than arrive comfortably in time, I am fated to be pushing it right to the wire. It's time to get a move on.

Thanks for reading, enjoy the Bank Holiday!

All change again! (But it's the last time I promise...)

I hope you have all been enjoying the recent sunshine: it's a shame Easter didn't fall this week! However, it is not just the beautiful weather that is giving me such optimism at the moment. I am still making progress on my weight target, inching up towards halfway. Even my therapist at the ED clinic had to agree. This week we had our shortest session ever as her advice was simply to "keep on with the plan".

But I only wish that this progress had started three months ago. It would have given me a little more leeway in case things start to plateau later. I'm still going up against the wire and can't afford to slacken the pace for a second.

Still, at least things are (finally) going in the right direction. I am feeling less desperate and hopeless, and am finally having more peace in my mind. It is a clichéd paradox in the ED world that it gets easier to challenge the negative thoughts as you start to put on weight - but that black voice makes it so hard to do just that! Yet it seems to be true for me. As the scales tip upwards, I am finding the mental strength to say "Shut up Anna" when she would make me feel guilty, bloated, sick and miserable. I still feel bad that so much of my life seems to be about eating and that I am having so many calorie-dense foods at the moment. Yet I do feel more able to justify this. I tell myself:

- This food is my ticket back to my PhD. If I don't make the target, I will feel a lot worse about NOT eating this food now than I could by eating it

- This is only temporary! Life can be about other things, once I get to where I should be.

After all, when cancer patients undergo chemotherapy, you would expect their life to be focused around their treatment until it ends. You certainly wouldn't advocate that they approach it half heartedly. But when the course is over, the illness can drop back to being a lesser focus in life insignificant part of life, if any.

Meanwhile, I'm afraid I have to admit that the walk plan has changed again. I have really struggled to "connect the dots" on Offa's Dyke and work out a plan for accommodation (it just wouldn't be feasible for me to try and heft camping gear all that way!). After sending hundreds of emails and only receiving two (negative) replies, I am admitting defeat. But there is also another reason - I was never truly drawn to Offa's Dyke and only chose it as it seemed the logical candidate after I gave up the Pennine Way (for now). What I really wanted was to complete a walk based in the Peak District. So I have chosen (and this is IT now, FINAL ANSWER!) the WHITE PEAK WAY , an 80 mile circuit of the glorious Peaks, with 13,000 ft of ascent. As this is based on the YHA network, accommodation shouldn't be a problem. It should also make it easier for any of my Sheffield-based friends to join me for a section if they so wish! I will be posting details of my planned stages on the "Walk" page on this blog soon so stay tuned.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy the rest of this week.