Carrie Keeps Fit
Published on 15 November 2015
So, Beardy and I have finally admitted aloud to each other and to our pals that we have, munch by munch, become a pair of big fat pigs. We’ve agreed it’s time to shed some blubber before we wind up wedged inside our flat for good and Channel 4 come round to make a body-shock documentary series about us.
I can imagine it now…
Scene 1: HOME VIDEO FOOTAGE, 2004. EXT. Botanic Gardens, Glasgow.
Carrie Not The Kind Of Girl You’d Marry and Beardy skip hand in hand along the foot path. Carrie Not The Kind Of Girl You’d Marry is wearing a strappy vest, Johnson’s Holiday Skin and big sunglasses.
Beardy is wearing a striped shirt and a funny hat.
The couple swing their arms and laugh as they frolic in the park.
Beardy picks Carrie Not The Kind Of Girl You’d Marry up, throws her over his shoulder and spins and spins round in circles while Carrie Not The Kind Of Girl You’d Marry giggles and screams and kicks her legs and play-punches Beardy’s back.
Note: They are both wearing jeans and they can both walk, skip, run and bend over in them. Note too, they each only have one chin.
Scene 2: THE BASEMENT FLAT, LONDON, 2013.
Carrie Not The Kind Of Girl You’d Marry is lying on her bed trying to shove bits of herself into a pair of wool trousers. For every flab bump she crams in behind the zip, another blurps out over the top of the waistband. She flails around like Smokey Cat at her fattest (RIP).
Eventually, after an hour or two of trying to dress herself, Carrie gives up. She wraps her body in a clean duvet cover from the airing cupboard.
Beardy is working at his desk in the kitchen. As he leans back to make his bum comfy, the chair breaks and he lands on the floor with a thud. Carrie Not The Kind Of Girl You’d Marry wants to help him, but she can’t bend over far enough to reach Beardy’s hand. Her multiple chins are in the way. Her tummies are in the way. Everything’s in the way.
Beardy tries to crawl towards the sofa, but every time he tries to shuffle himself upright, the waistband of his jeans crushes his lungs and he flops on the floor again.
Unsure what to do, Carrie waddles to the cupboard and produces two bags of butter brioche. She falls backwards on to the floor and lies beside her husband. She hands one bag of brioche to Beardy and keeps the other for herself. They lie there, with their bags of sweetie bread, cramming entire rolls into their mouths at once…
“Do we have any maple syrup?” asks Carrie.
I wrote that ^ on August 23rd, 2013. I go on to describe how my husband and I each bought WeightWatchers subscriptions and about how, even though we'd rather shove marrows up our nostrils than attend an actual WeightWatchers meeting, we felt well equipped to encourage each other and say helpful things like, ‘I think you’ve learned to use the WeightWatchers app very quickly. Well done!’ and ‘I think it’s ok to have eaten 14 points worth of Hula Hoops because you had a tough day but using food to control mood is something we each need to work on’ on a weekly basis.
I then go on to talk about how eating breakfast is a bloody revelation and about how the humble courgette is pretty much the answer to all our healthy eating problems.
Here's the truth. We ate the courgettes and said the encouraging things to each other for about 3 months. By November we'd ransacked the Christmas chocolate stash and were shovelling olive oil drenched pasta into bowls/our mouths on a daily basis, like it was going out of fashion. When December arrived and someone declared 'holiday season' truly underway, we took that to mean it was time to limit the contents of our kitchen cupboards to products made either by Mr Kipling, Mr Cadbury or Mr Coca Cola Company. Holidays are comin'! Cherry Coke for breakfast. Chocolate Buttons for lunch and Angel Slices for tea. Realising, come January 2014, that none of our clothes fit us and that our arses were too heavy to carry around, we really wanted to make a change. We knew it was the right thing to do.
And I'm proud to say, that just 23 short months later, we are making that change.
Look! I'm even doing my exercises. For the very first time in 36 years!
Why don't you join in with my 4 minute step aerobics routine?