My Steve’s big reveal!
My lovely hubby’s gone from sinking pints to lifting weights!
Peeling the lid off piping-hot trays, I felt my tummy rumble.
‘Food’s here!’ I bellowed to my husband Steve, 58.
It was a standard Saturday night in December 2016.
A greasy takeaway and weekend telly.
As I piled rice and ribs onto plates, Steve normally couldn’t wait to tuck in. But tonight, he looked miserable.
‘This is my last takeaway. Ever,’ he declared. ‘I’m going to get fit and healthy.’
There was no denying Steve was on the plump side. But he hadn’t always been.
When I’d met him in March 2002 in our local, he’d been slimmer. Making me howl with laughter, I knew we had something special.
In August 2006, we’d married, but the laughter didn’t stop. One Christmas, I bought him a mankini for a joke.
Typical Steve, he went straight upstairs and put it on.
‘What do you think?’ he’d asked, flexing his muscles.
But that mankini had shown just how large he was getting.
A builder, Steve lived on beer and fatty food. But I knew part
of it was grief. He’d lost both his parents by 2015 and had started comfort eating.
Tucking in to a full fry-up every morning before work – his plate piled high with four fried eggs, three rashers of bacon, two slices of fried bread, black pudding, four sausages, hash browns and potatoes. And lunch was a dash to the chippy.
Then it’d be on to the pub, where he’d sink up to 10 pints, before coming home and tucking in to a ready meal, with a packet of biscuits for afters.
Eventually, he needed XXXL shirts. Even his 44in trousers were snug.
Reality hit home. My husband was obese.
‘You should watch your blood pressure,’ I’d said one day.
‘You worry too much,’ he’d huffed in response.
I frowned. I loved him, didn’t want his weight to kill him. But there was only so much I could do. Like all addicts, he had to be the one to decide enough was enough.
Now, over a Saturday-night takeaway, that moment had come. I was thrilled and relieved.
‘You’ll do this with me, right?’ he said in January 2017.
‘We’re in this together, love!’ I beamed.
The takeaways hadn’t been kind to me, either. I weighed 10st 4lb.
I’d always weighed a healthy 9st, fitting in size-10 clothes. Now, squeezing in to size-12s, I wasn’t happy.
Determined, the first thing Steve did was bin all processed food. I’d come home to delicious smells coming from the kitchen. Watch agog as Steve chopped up peppers, onions and celery.
Even though our portions were half the size, we never felt hungry.
‘I don’t even fancy biscuits or crisps,’ grinned Steve.
We cut out bread, potatoes – anything too carb heavy.
Getting Steve to the gym was more challenging.
‘I’m worried people will judge me,’ he said.
But, eventually, we signed up. I enjoyed yoga, Zumba, Legs, Bums and Tums.
Steve loved the bikes, rowing machines and weights.
We went four times a week, motivating each other. And before I knew it, the weight began to drop off Steve. He never had a target. ‘I just want to get rid of this,’ he’d say, poking at his belly.
But one of the biggest changes was cutting out beer.
‘I don’t fancy it,’ Steve said one night when I asked if he was off to the pub.
Before we knew it, he hadn’t been for a month! Choosing to lift weights over downing pints.
A new man!
By last December, he’d got down to 11st. I was so proud.
His 44in waist had shrunk to a trim 30in, and his XXXL T-shirts drowned him. My fella was now a stud! I’d lost 2st too, weighing 8st 10lb and wearing a size-10 again.
We’re both happier and healthier now. And I’m just grateful Steve got that wake-up call before he was lost to booze and junk food for good. And the mankini? Let’s just say it looks more flattering these days!
That mankini showed just how large he was