Where have you gone?

Openly acknowledging weight loss is deeply frowned upon these days... or is it?

“You’re wasting away!”, “You’re tiny!”, “There’s nothing of you!”, “Where have you gone?”.

Over the years, I’ve heard these words quite a few times, whenever I’ve lost weight - and that weight loss has usually been intentional because, like most women I know, diet culture has always had me in its evil grip. 

Here’s a behind the scenes selfie from a newspaper photoshoot I did in my house last week which involved me pretending to eat. So natural.

Given that my BMI has never in all my life been below a still well-insulated 27, the whole “tiny!” thing is clearly bollocks.  Incidentally, some studies show that around 27 is actually the healthiest BMI, in that you are apparently less likely to die, although of course - trigger warning - there is actually a 100% chance that you will die at some point, so maybe don’t fixate too much.

But no, I have never been “tiny!”. I have never “wasted away”. However, for me there is a weight threshold that seems to catch people’s attention. I can lose several stone and hide in plain sight, still generally regarded as “curvy”, and then the last few pounds, which usually coincides with me fitting into the size 12 end of my chaotic wardrobe, will have people shrieking “WOAH! YOU HAVE PLAIN DISAPPEARED! WHAT DID YOU DO?”

I am woke and evolved enough to know that you’re not supposed to say stuff like that anymore but unfortunately I am also conditioned enough by a lifetime of being a woman to absolutely lap it up. So generally I will say something like “You’re not supposed to say stuff like that anymore… but THANK YOU! YOU ARE CORRECT! I HAVE LOST A BIT OF WEIGHT ACTUALLY AND I FEEL AMAZING!” and then we will have a conversation about how messed up we all are about these things and how looking “worryingly thin” is still, sadly, a dark fantasy for a lot of women. 

Worryingly thin I will never be - or want to be - but I have seemingly crossed my own, relative “tiny!” threshold in the last few weeks, unusually without actually dieting at all. I am writing this after having a massive Wagamama’s takeaway for lunch followed by a bag of Mini Eggs and they were both delicious, thank you.

So, WHAT IS MY MYSTERIOUS WEIGHT LOSS SECRET? Absolutely shedloads of running, of course. London Marathon is now 10 weeks away and the training schedule is getting meaty. Don’t worry, I am making sure I eat enough to fuel those long runs - and I almost always plan my routes to end at a cafe - but it’s inevitable that quite a few of the calories I’m merrily necking are being burned into smithereens. But this is just where I am now. A few months from now, I know I’ll still be running but I won’t be knocking out 20+ miles a week, so I’ll either maintain or gain weight, and I’ve sort of come to terms with my body having seasons. Becoming an exercise convert has simply made the yo-yo variation no more than about a stone, rather than three, four or five.

Many of my runs now end at Marchetti, the best new cafe in Catford (or Forest Hill, depending on who you ask).

On social media there are people existing in an admirable body positivity, anti diet culture bubble, who make some very compelling arguments about why we shouldn’t encourage or even acknowledge weight loss, ever. And I get it. And I agree… in theory.

For one, I know that if (when?) I gain back those kilos, nobody will say a word about it. They might notice fewer full-body photos of me on social media (always the sign of a woman looking for recognition of a perceived body upgrade, whether she knows it or not). They might say I look “well” which we all know is a euphemism that can mean thin or fat depending on the starting point.

I also get that it’s safer not to mention someone’s weight loss because it could be a result of being sick, or sad. Touch wood, I’ve never been very sick or even very sad, and if I was sad I’d probably eat loads of chocolate anyway - but you might not know that. There’s also the fact that talk of weight loss might feel fine for you but can be triggering for other people in earshot, for a whole variety of reasons. So, not talking about it at all is very valid… but also, outside of that bubble, almost impossible. Thin is still in. 

And the big, BIG, problem is, when you have always felt like the fat girl; the heavy-hipped 12 year old in obscene gym knickers providing the slapstick scenes in every PE lesson; the self-conscious 19 year old who couldn’t shop where her mates shopped because in the early noughties trendy high street stores still only went up to a size 14; the newly-single 23 year old trying to decide which of the designated “body type” categories on Guardian Soulmates would put off more potential suitors (and asking her friends “Is it worse if I tick ‘curvaceous’ or ‘a few extra pounds’?”); the disillusioned 26 year old good enough to booty call but not date publicly (“I really fancy you but you’re not my usual type” becoming very familiar words); the pissed off 34 year old being told she had to give birth in hospital and not at the midwife-led unit because her 30+ BMI made it too “high risk” (and then proving them wrong by popping out two babies in a pretty low-key fashion, give or take a bit of vom); the determined 39 year old feeling incredible about running for miles only to be told she should “keep it up, fatty!”… well, when all of these things are the norm and someone, especially if that someone is a slim woman - a friend, a relative, a colleague, a school mum, someone you really like - notices you have lost weight, it finally feels like acceptance.  And if you’re shaking your head because you have never experienced any of the above, you possess “thin privilege” - congratulations?!  

Conversely, if people seemingly don’t notice or don’t acknowledge something you’ve been trying hard to do, whether for health, vanity, societal pressure or all of the above… you can feel a bit shit. Needy? Duh! “But you’re so confident!”. Yes sure, because I store up compliments from people and replay them in my head whenever I need to. Below-the-line newspaper comments, dreadful chat-up lines, heartfelt declarations of love, professional endorsements on corporate appraisal forms, fashion praise from passing strangers, glowing nuggets of Vinted feedback… hey, no compliment too small! Doesn’t everyone do this?! Is anyone truly confident from within? 

In an ideal world, appearances wouldn’t matter. But they do, and one perfectly ordinary-looking 42 year old woman’s Substack isn’t going to change that. So, what’s the solution? How can we make people, especially women ground down by the pressure to be thin(ner), feel good about how they look, whether they’ve shrunk, grown or stayed the same?

Let’s try some non weight-focused compliments for, er, size…

“That outfit looks really lovely on you!” (Nice, but sounds a bit like the beginning of a sales pitch. Expected response: “This? It was 49p in TK Maxx!”) 

“It’s fantastic to see you looking so happy!” (Bit creepy, but sort of sweet. Do I normally look sad though? Are you aware of something going on that means I shouldn’t look happy? Or do you just think I might be drunk?)

“Have you done something different with your hair?” (This kept happening to someone I know who’d had some work done to their face. It’s never clear if the person saying it is fishing for the tweakment goss, or genuinely can’t figure out why their middle-aged pal suddenly looks like a nubile mannequin).   

“You look really strong and healthy!” (Nope, this definitely sounds like you think I look fat). 

“You have an amazing brain.” (NOW YOU ARE SIMPLY CALLING ME UGLY). 

Yes, it’s a minefield, any suggestions? And do you ever wish you were a 1970s builder so you could just shout “nice tits!” at every passing woman and be done with it?

OTHER STUFF YOU MIGHT BE INTERESTED IN

• There’s been a lot of running controversy in the actual proper news this week. First, running journalist Kate Carter was accused of posting “misleading marathon times”. Whatever the truth, I feel a bit sorry for her - imagine being backed into such a corner that you’re forced to issue a statement explaining that you wet yourself. 

• Then there was a huge furore about parkrun deciding to remove some key stats from its results pages… mainly because lots of people didn’t actually read the finer details of this news and thought that they wouldn’t get sent their results anymore: CALM DOWN, NOT TRUE. But this from

  Tech Interrupt
  explains why all that lovely data is so important to parkrun nerds like me. 

• Speaking of which: I am slowly working my way through my parkrun “NENDY”s - Nearest Events Not Done Yet - something I only know about because of all the data unofficial parkrun apps like 5K Parkunner have access to. This weekend, I went a few miles down the road to Bromley’s Norman Park and would have got one of my fastest times in a couple of years if it wasn’t for the start being SO crowded that I was basically shuffling shoulder to shoulder with 800 people for the first three minutes. These are the next ones I plan to tackle soon - let me know if you want to join me! (she types needily)

  

• Beware the Strava segment-stealers! They are coming to a street near you trying to beat you by one second. Not me, I’m simply not good enough at running to be making a grab for your laurel. 

• With lots of help from Runners Need, I did a piece for The Telegraph on choosing the right running shoes. Personally I am a fan of ASICS, mostly because they suit my feet but also definitely a little bit because they come in all the colours. 

• It is ten weeks until London Marathon! You can sponsor me here for Asthma + Lung UK if you fancy it. Thanks to the wonderful people who’ve already donated, my training playlist is coming along nicely.

• Utterly, utterly irrelevant to any of this, but it’s my bloody newsletter so I’ll write what I want: last week my sweet little cat Dolly died unexpectedly of a blood clot (causing me to spend £673.80 and most of the night at an emergency vets many miles away in glamorous Thamesmead), so here is a photo of her in happier times.

  

  This photo was taken in 2021 but I still haven’t finished any of these books.

  And finally… when I first launched this newsletter back in the summer, I wrote down in a secret Notes file that when I hit 1000 free sign-ups, I would turn on paid subscriptions. This happened over a month ago now, but I’ve been too scared to push the button. I don’t want to gatekeep my content, but if a few people kindly coughed up to receive it, I’d be able to prioritise my Substack writing over other paid work. So hit the button below if you want to fund my lifestyle. I will spend it on vet’s bills (we still have one live cat, big up Gus!), running paraphernalia and books I won’t get round to reading. Thanks!