The Day My Life Changed

Slimming Club.

It was a thing in the 70s. All about how losing weight would make us more successful – our lives would be transformed. From fat, frumpy, friendless women [it was nearly all women although a few courageous men braved the church hall in their quest for a desirable manly physique] to sleek super-models glowing skin and hair, fabulous fashions fitting perfectly, the kind of women that turned heads in a crowded room, probably during the occasional trip to the pub on the arms of their proud husbands.

It has to be said that we were all pretty courageous. Turning up that first time was nerve-wracking. Imagine this: standing on the stage in front of a massive audience [think Britain’s Got Talent] and announcing:

“My name is Eileen, I’m 52 years of age, and I’m 13 stone 5 lbs.” We didn’t use kilos then.

The scales of shame. No getting out of it. At least the dreadful numbers were not actually announced to the whole room, but there was no avoiding the stares, from head to toe, the calculations going in heads: ‘is she fatter than me?’ ‘thinner than me?’ ‘obviously addicted to fatty foods, probably cakes and biscuits all day long’.

Not all the thoughts were negative though…. I know that now.

I wore my biggest tee-shirt and floppiest pants. Anything that hid the massive contours of my body. Big boobs hanging down to my waist, even with the help of the best over the shoulder boulder holder from Marks and Spencer. I had no definable shape: everything was loose, floppy, disgusting.

That’s what I thought anyway.

Melissa stood out straight away, and not just because of her name [so posh]. It seems she was a ‘star’. The lady in charge, a sleek well-groomed, slim, 35 year old, announced that Melissa had lost the most out of the whole group that week, five pounds!

I wondered where she’d lost them from. At first glance we were a similar size, lots of floppiness going on there too. Or maybe I was just being my usual jealous self….my default setting nowadays. When did I become so mean?

I’d only just started at Slimming Club, so I was really pleased to have lost a whole 5 pounds so soon. Stepping on those scales was a nightmare but it had to be done; the applause more than made up for it. I tried to look pleased, yes, I did look pleased. I know that 5 pounds down still meant a long way to go.

That new woman…..what was her name……Eileen? Why was she staring at me? That’s a bit rude. Not a pleasant stare either. No need for that.

I decided to be nice.

She’s probably feeling a bit uncomfortable just being here. It’s hard, I know that.

Finally, we had all been weighed, progress [or not] marked on our cards, a short talk from the boss lady [well she was quite bossy] all about the importance of protein and ‘healthy fats’ whatever they were. The main message seemed to be ‘eat for eggs!’ which is all very well if you can tolerate them. I can’t.

“Hello!”

A voice just behind me.

I turned my head.

Melissa……. I might have guessed. She probably just wanted to brag about the whole 5 pounds she had lost, maybe even show off the gold star marked on her card. ‘What a loser’ as my son would say [ironically, in this case].

I decided to behave, be civil for once.

“Oh hello, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier”

“I’m Melissa, and it’s Eileen, I think?”

“Yes”

“Welcome to Slimming Club. I think that was your first meeting?”

She knew this, why was she trying to pretend otherwise?

All I wanted to do was walk away. Two hours in a cold soulless hall, forced to make small talk was enough for me, so I gently pushed my way through the slow moving snake of ladies who, against all reason, didn’t seem to want to leave. Didn’t they have lives to get back to? Seemingly not.

But Melissa was on my tail, despite my best efforts.

What was wrong with this woman?

“Would you like to go for a cup of tea? There’s a little café just around the corner. I often go there, it’s quite nice.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, turned to face her full of a resolute ‘no, thank you’.

But then I saw her face, looked into her eyes; something stopped me in my tracks. Pleading?

And then it struck me. She was just like me, we were the same. Same level of desperation to lose something from these bodies which we hauled around, day in, day out, ruining our lives, making us old before our time, forcing us to sit around watching rubbish on the TV, because walking any distance was beyond us, exercise out of the question.

It was all there, me and her. We were the same.

I’d wanted to hate her, because of her name, because of that lost 5 pounds, but if I hated her I was also hating myself.

There was no competition between us.

“Yes, I’d like that Melissa”.

And so we sat in that nice little café and first we chatted, and then we really talked. About how our lives were ruled, consumed by that surplus weight, and about how it wasn’t about looking good, it was about feeling good, about being confident enough to take our kids to the park and kick a ball around with them. We even got onto marital woes, and how wonderful it would be if only we loved our bodies!

We found ourselves sitting there for a long time, well after numerous cups of tea had gone cold.

We had thought we were competitors for a gold star on a card. We weren’t. We were competing with ourselves.

We were team mates, and together we would succeed.

Slimming Club – yes.

Losing, gaining, losing again.

Yes.

But this time, together.

Every week, side by side.