The Backstory: Childhood

If there was one word you would use to describe how I ate when I was a child, it would be heartily. Food was a natural part of social occasions and I have happy memories of birthday cake, Christmas dinners and my cousin's famous Sticky Toffee Pudding. I had a similar appetite for life and took on all sorts of activities - playing the piano, school choirs, Latin and science clubs, volunteering on a Church bookstall, bellringing, etc. But when it came to sport, running was the only thing I was any good at. It all started when my Mum suggested we entered the local Fun Run as a family team and it occurred to me that, if I trained regularly all year instead just before the event, I might do better next time. By the time I reached secondary school, I had improved enough to make the school cross country and athletics teams. Yet I still didn't take it too seriously - I only trained three times a week and had a good balance with other activities.

 Those were the days...the one sport I was any good at!

The one worrying shadow over my secondary school years was my increasing preoccupation with grades and academic achievement. It didn't help that I had an incredibly successful (but modest!) older brother who I felt I could never live up to. No matter how I distinguished myself in other spheres - such as  running and musical activities - I felt a constant sense of frustrated failure for not matching up to him intellectually. No matter what prizes I won or what people said, I was certain they could only be disappointed in me.

Life was still full of beautiful things, but there was a constant undercurrent of tension, for I felt that the only real point of these school years was to set myself up for a future career. Whilst I enjoyed family skiing holidays and trips to French campsites, I would spend the journeys buried in my revision books. I took less and less satisfaction in my grades; if I met my targets, then I had only done what was expected of me so it was hardly a cause for celebration. Hence, on the day of my GCSE results I was devastated to only get an "A" for music, even though this was actually what my teacher had predicted. I cursed myself for picking the subject - if I had only chosen another, perhaps I would have got straight A*s....

On top of Eve on the summit of Tryfan 

I became more isolated when I started A Levels at the local Sixth Form College. I didn't make any real friends there and instead became increasingly focused on one goal: to get into Oxford University as my brother had done. This obsession became all consuming and became the only thing that mattered to me. So it was hardly a surprise when I broke down in the interview from nerves and was rejected. No one could comfort me as I grieved for the only life I had wanted for myself. Not the most promising way to start University....