23/08/2026
Body image in midlife is a funny old thing.
Part of me genuinely gives zero f***s. I’m 51, I’ve lived a lot of life, my body has carried me through a lot, and I know my worth has absolutely nothing to do with the size of my jeans.
And then… there’s another part of me that catches sight of herself in the mirror and thinks, hmmm, I’d quite like to feel a bit more comfortable in here.
Both can be true.
I can reject diet culture and want to make choices that help me feel better in my body. I can love food and have zero interest in restricting it. And I can love moving my body while also having absolutely bugger-all motivation to do it right now.
So, in the spirit of being honest with myself… I weighed myself this morning. Something I rarely do. And I’m a good 3kg heavier than my ‘comfortable’ weight.
It’s not the number itself that bothers me. But it has made me acknowledge something I already knew: since my heart event earlier this year, I’ve found movement and motivation harder. Add winter into the mix and I’ve moved less, eaten more and generally lost a bit of the rhythm that helps me feel good.
And yes, I can come up with plenty of reasons why. Some of them are completely valid. But with a race in 11 weeks and training properly starting now, this feels like my little accountability post.
Not to get smaller. Not to diet. Not to punish myself for loving food or having a winter slump.
But to get back to moving more. Eating in a way that makes me feel good. Training for something that excites me.
And hopefully, somewhere along the way, feeling a little more comfortable in my 51-year-old skin.
Because this body is capable. It’s strong. It’s been through some s**t. And it’s still pretty bloody badass. And I’d quite like to start feeling that way about it again.
