It’s Eating Disorders Awareness Week and the lovely people at Mind have asked me to write a blog for it. Here it is!
As my days and weeks are currently taken up with plodding along the pavements of Manchester in preparation for the London Marathon (for Mind, of course), where better to focus than on exactly that: running.
Six years ago, I was told that if I ran, I could die. Cardiac arrest and drop dead, just like that. Bizarrely, I stared into my doctor’s eyes completely unfazed, left the surgery and hit the gym. I didn’t care if I ended up in a heap on the floor, I didn’t care about my health; I didn’t care about anything at all apart from seeing the number on the scale slowly drop lower and lower and lower.
I never set myself off on a quest to be thin for the sake of fitting into size six skinny jeans or to resemble emaciated models or celebrities. If I cared what I looked like, I wouldn’t have appeared zombie-like with thinning hair, terrible skin, matchstick legs and dead eyes. Tr...
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