As you should know by now, I am an avid follower of The Biggest Loser. Love that shit! But while I’m waiting for some kind soul to upload Season 15, episode 14 onto YouTube, I’ve been watching another similar kind of programme – Extreme Makeover Weight Loss Edition.
It’s the same sort of thing as the Biggest Loser, except here they take one severely overweight person (as in over 500lbs) and make them work with a trainer over the course of a year to lose a shit-ton of weight – all culminating in a jaw-dropping reveal at the end. Yes of course it’s all made for TV and ratings, and I’m not sure if losing 250lbs or more in a year is safe or healthy, but I’m still able to engage and connect with it, and take things away to use along my own journey.
And the most meaningful episode I’ve seen so far was the one with Wally. I don’t remember exactly how much he weighed, but it was up there in either the high 400lbs or over 500lbs. He had a wife and small child, and had all but given up the fight against food addiction and morbid obesity.
So the TV trainer took Wally on, worked him out, gave him nutritional advice and motivation, and helped him lose over 100lbs in the first 3 months. Well done Wally! But then the trainer left Wally to continue his journey on his own, and things started to go downhill. Wally put up a good fight in the beginning, but eventually started returning to drivethrus and takeaways, until at the end of 6 months, the trainer returned to find that instead of losing another 70lbs, Wally had only lost 25lbs – not enough to meet the target he’d been set.
The trainer had some choice words for him, including ‘liar’, ‘betrayal’, ‘shame’, and a whole host of other things. Reluctantly he agreed to keep helping Wally, and gave him another target for the next 3 months. And that’s when the shit storm hit. Wally cut off all contact with the trainer altogether, until one night he sent an email that was part cry for help, part suicide note. The trainer took the first flight to his house, to find that Wally had gained almost all his weight back, and despite having had all his money and credit cards taken away from him, was still finding ways to sneak food, binge, and eat on the sly. His wife was in tears, the trainer was at his wit’s end, and Wally was made to admit to the world that he was in fact, a food addict.
Sadly, this episode did not end with a sparkling transformation, but instead with the trainer taking Wally to rehab, and leaving him there, desolate and alone.
It was a very hard episode to watch, and it was one that took me back to when I was in the same space as Wally. Because like him, I too am a food addict. Yes, I’m in recovery right now, but the fact remains: I am, and always will be, addicted to food.
That’s why I identified with Wally. I know exactly what it feels like to sit there and eat and eat and eat past the point of fullness, because as soon as you stop eating you start feeling. I know what it’s like to eat one lunch in front of your friends, then go to McDonald’s afterwards and have four more lunches on your own. I know what it’s like to live in debt with three maxed out credit cards because ordering Mr Delivery every night is cripplingly expensive. And I know what it’s like to lie in bed at night, alone in the 3am blackness, praying that you never wake up again so the pain can just STOP.
I don’t know what it’s like being addicted to drugs or alcohol, but I can tell you that when you’re addicted to food, your life becomes one filled with furtiveness and shame. Your entire day becomes an exercise in hiding – throwing takeaway boxes away before anyone sees, leaving parties early so you can have a second dinner without anyone knowing, stuffing your face while you’re driving away from the takeout joint so your friends don’t see how much you actually bought for yourself… and then making sure to never, ever look at yourself in the mirror, because then you’ll actually have to face up to what you’ve become – a full-blown addict.
People often sat around the coffee table at work saying, ‘ooh I had such a binge last night – I had a whole chocolate and a packet of crisps’. And I wanted to laugh and cry a little all at the same time. Because a binge for me wasn’t a pathetic Tempo and a packet of Lays. It was one of those family variety packs at KFC, all for myself. Or a large pizza plus a large pasta followed by chocolate brownies and ice cream. Or my favourite – 6 chicken and beef samoosas, two chicken vindaloos with rice and nine cream cakes. NINE. With all that stuffed into me on a daily basis, you start to see why the three credit cards were necessary.
So what’s the big deal then – why can’t you just stop? It’s easy – just stop shoving shit into your mouth. Hahahahaha. Yes, sure, it’s that easy.
The awesome thing about food addiction is that unlike when recovering from alcohol and drug abuse, you can’t go cold turkey. You need to eat to live. And that’s where the problem comes in. You wouldn’t tell an alcoholic, ‘go chug three to six drinks a day, that’s fine’. Or to a drug user, ‘sure, smack that bitch up six times a day, it’s all good!’. But if you’re a food addict, you’re expected to have your drug of choice three to six times a day, and yet still be able to keep your cravings under control? Not a fuck.
Because a craving it is, let me tell you. At times I almost felt as if I was possessed – that some demon had taken over and I was a prisoner in my own body, powerless to escape its control. I would often watch myself as if from above, shoving things into my face, unable to stop and unable to stop myself. Because the power of food addiction is an all-consuming, inexorable force.
And just as much as it’s a force, it’s pure bliss as well. While you’re eating nothing matters – not that you’re bored, lonely, weak, tired, sad, nothing. You’re the king of the world. Until you stop eating. And then you have to look around at your bleak, sad life, littered with takeaway boxes and regret. It’s too much, and too depressing to take in, so you start right back up again with the eating. Because as long as you’re filling your face with food, you don’t have to focus on anything else.
Occasionally the dim realisation that you are killing yourself one Big Mac at a time floats into your conscious mind, and you make the vague effort to get up and do something. But by that time you are so full of bad carbs and unhealthy fats that you cannot get off the couch. I tried it many times, believe me. But you are so weighed down by food and failure that it literally feels as if the steel bands of addiction are pinning you to the couch in an unbreakable iron grip. And so you fall back into the comforting depths of your food palace, look at the delivery menu and pick up the phone. And the cycle continues.
So yes, I understood Wally, I identified with Wally, and I cried with Wally. But at the same time I felt an overpowering sense of relief. Because I’m not where he is anymore. I’ve managed to get off the couch, I’ve managed to wrest back control of my body from the food demons, and I’ve managed to make a life for myself that isn’t defined by food. I’m sad for Wally but I’m proud of myself, because it is without a doubt the absolute hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. And I did it.
Spoiler alert: yes, I will relapse at some point and look for solace in the bottom of a takeaway bag rather than my friends, family or support structures. Because I’m an addict, and that’s what we do. But those periods in my life are becoming shorter, and fewer and less necessary. What is necessary for me is to remember what lies beyond my couch – a world full of possibilities that I’m finally able to get up and embrace, free from the clawing, hungry grasp of my addiction. Food now feeds my body, not my soul, and that’s the way it should be. Wally, wherever you are, I hope that life is helping you learn the same thing.
Losing It 