So I went to Italy. I managed to not cry when I put on my team tracksuit on the morning of our flight and realised that it was tight around my hips. I managed to not cry when a friend of mine playfully punched me in the stomach and said "58 kilo my arse..." I even managed to control myself when another friend commented on my currently curvaceous bottom. But I nearly lost it when I was standing next to my skinny little sister and someone made a distinct comparison along the lines of "I'd take your sister, she looks fitter". I know these were intended as jokes. And were said by incredibly light people who had been starving themselves for weeks to make weight for this competition. I'm not going to take it personally. But it was tough. Being there was tough. Watching everyone compete whilst I explained repeatedly why I wasn't taking part. But I'm hoping, really hoping that this horrible experience will help give me the hunger and motivation to start training again properly. I want the gold. I want the glory. And it would be nice to have my body back too.
When Life Gets Weird
3 weeks ago