Bring On The Body Magic

‘The constant travelling and eating out (such a hardship, I know) meant many of my meals were out of my control. Something had to give; and I wasn’t going to let it be my trousers’

- Clare Mackintosh

Earlier this year, I joined Fat Club. That’s not what it’s called, obviously (“It’s not a diet, ladies, it’s a way of life.”) but that’s what it is. Twenty-or-so overweight women (and one man; there’s always a man, and he always loses weight twice as fast as all the women put together, thanks to the very male trait of single-mindedness, and the absence of that very female trait — chocolate addiction), lining up once a week to be congratulated on a half-pound loss, and jollied out of despair when the scales tip the other way.

I joined under duress. Mine. I was 40 and — well, if not ‘fat’ exactly, certainly fatter than I wanted to be. I lacked the will-power to stick to any kind of diet at home, and the constant travelling and eating out (such a hardship, I know) meant many of my meals were out of my control. Something had to give; and I wasn’t going to let it be my trousers.

Friends had waxed lyrical about the difference this particular group had made to their lives, and I was an avid follower on Instagram of successful devotees (hashtag myslimmingjourney hashtag eatclean hashtag cheatday hashtag pies hashtag dreamingaboutcreambuns hashtag hashtag hashtag…) I was ready to give it a go.