I was feeling a bit down today after yet more rampant fuckwittery so I decided to go for a run. This is a new thing for me. In fact I haven’t done any kind of exercise in a long, long time. But this is the new and improved Ren or Renarde V2.0.

Desperately hunting around my bedroom I realised that I was completely out of clean tops. I did find however a lovely purple vest from 4 years ago. I put it on; it hung off my frame. It’s a size 20. That vest is meant to be figure hugging. Now I looked like a child who’s got lost in its mothers’ clothing.

That promoted me to think about what has happened in the past year. Well a lot has happened in the last year. In fact this time last year I was well on my way to loosing over 5 stone in weight. At my largest I was a 20/22. I think maybe I even bought a size 24 pair of trousers at one point. Frightening. Now I’m a 10/12 top and a 12/14 bottom. A little way off my all time low of a size 8 bottom in the first year at University where the food was so goddamn awful I didn’t really eat much. For a long time I was ‘The’ perfect size 10, 34C breasts. I loved being that size. Do I want to go there again? Not sure…

On an impulse I pulled out a belt I had saved from my largest time. Most of my big clothing went to charity or is stuck in my loft. Measuring it I can see that there is a difference of 34 cm or 15 inches in old money. 15″ off my waist! I still can’t believe it! Was I really that big? Yes I was, and I was holding the evidence in my hand.

You see, I’ve always been very curvy. A perfect hourglass. And when the weight started to pile on, gradually I might add, starting at around the age of 22, it went on all over. That was a blessing I suppose as I looked vaguely in proportion. There are reasons why that happened. Mostly, emotional issues concerning my childhood but also physiological too as I have an under active thyroid which was diagnosed when I was 14.

It didn’t really effect me then, I was simply tired and looked anemic. But it did really start to play a factor when the weight went on. You move less, so you don’t use up the calories, that leads to more inactivity. And so the cycle continued. Year after year of getting larger, more unhappy, less sexual. The actual amount I was eating remained the same.

A couple of years ago I gave the Atkins a whirl and I really liked it. Lost a little weight and felt better for it; more energised. Eating THAT much protein is actually quite tough though. So it fell by the wayside and the weight came back and paid me a visit.

About April last year after reading much about the 5:2, I downloaded the book. And I haven’t looked back. I used my Wii to track the weight loss and the graph trend-line fell with a lovely negative smooth gradient. Fantastic. I’d like to make out that it was hard; I struggled; I gnashed my teeth and wailed at the sky. I didn’t. It was so so easy. Like falling off a log.

But the main benefit is that eating less food shrinks your stomach. So after a good few months of that, I came off it as I couldn’t be bothered planning my meals around the fast days anymore. I now eat much less than I used to, perhaps only two meals a day. I don’t snack – I never snack – but I do enjoy my wine. Biscuits bought for others stay in the cupboard. I forget about cakes I’ve got and they remain for weeks at a time in their tin. I care passionately about food, I adore cooking. I’m no food Nazi. I put less on my plate and just stop when I’m full. Simple.

The 5:2 isn’t for everyone and I really firmly believe that it’s a question of finding something for you which is effortless. And also, I don’t really believe in exercise as a way to loose weight. Its demotivating and can also lead to a negative spiral of self-doubt, guilt and blame.

But I’m discovering that running is good for my mood. And it’s bloody cheap.

And oh God! I can finally move! Running doesn’t hurt (well apart from getting out of breath, I’m so goddamn unfit). My knees don’t ache anymore. Oh and for years I couldn’t kneel back on my legs. That’s a BIG problem for a sub. Now I feel my thighs protesting.. actually that’s still something I have to work on. I had begun to seriously struggle getting up from the floor. I now bound out of bed. I think nothing of taking my stilettos off and running barefoot across Reading station to catch my connection.

But I didn’t lose the weight for anyone else. I lost it for me because it was the right time to do so. I was ever so tired of looking the way that I did. That being said, I hate the way society tries to make women believe that there is one perfect size. That a size 12 is a plus size! Give me a break! I believe fiercely that everyone has the right to look any way that they wish. If you’re happy at a size 24, be a 24! Size 8? Sure no problem. But I know that when I was at my largest, I did care very much about how I looked. There has been a legacy left of being that fat girl. And it’s taken probably that last year to get my head around it. I may always carry some of that shame with me. But as Wallis Simpson said; “Nothing tastes as good as how being slim feels”. It feels bloody fantastic.

The novelty of now being thin is now wearing off slightly. But I do still get a thrill when I can get into a pair of size 12s, or know that I can buy Agent Provocateur and that I comfortably fall within their size range now…(err just about for bras… come on AP is 36E the best you can do??). But an ex-Dom of mine said to me a a few months back that if I ever got that big again he would punish me. If I had been in the same room as him he would have had a taste of being the sub! Am I only liked because of the way that I look? That creeping, pernicious idea sits in the back of my brain now.. would you still find me attractive if I was fat? It was of course a terrible thing to say and reflects more on his character than mine. Not just him. During an acrimonious break up in September (so not quite lost the weight… maybe three stone at that point), another Dom took great pleasure in rapidly joining the group, ‘All skinny, petite and trim’. Or something like that. What a cunt. He did so like his little Fet mindfucks.

Of course I’m now a shameless attention whore. Yeah so what? I spent years (15?) not being able to look at myself properly in the mirror. It’s a cliche but I’m learning to love myself again. My body is a work in progress but I’m now nearly there. I think I will get there this summer.

I don’t ever want to be that woman again. And you know what? I don’t think I will be.