Cookie dough crisis
Could I really put down the spoon for good?
Gathering the empty ice-cream tubs from my cupboard, I snuck out of my uni dorm room. Can’t let anyone see all these, I thought, creeping down the hallway and shoving them deep in a bin.
I didn’t want my roommate – or our other friends – knowing I polished off a tub of my fave cookie-dough ice cream every single day. Topped with cream! And that was extra to all the fast food...
It was January 2016, and at size 26, it was obvious I ate too much.
But it didn’t stop me hiding the evidence.
I’d been embarrassed by my insatiable appetite and big belly since I was young.
Aged 10, I’d stood on the scales for the first time.
Still remember the numbers flashing: 14st 5lb.
I’d avoided the scales after that. But I couldn’t dodge the bullies...
‘You’re big for a girl!’ boys would say.
‘Paige is the biggest!’ a girl, just a little smaller than me, liked to point out.
Despite doctors warning my mum Pauline, then 30, that I needed to lose weight, by 14 I was pre-diabetic.
Diabetes ran in my family, with my dad Jesse, then 42, living with the condition.
I was bound to get it, too, I thought.
Addicted to food, I carried sugary snacks everywhere.
Doughnuts, cream-filled cakes, pop.
At 16 I started working at McDonald’s. I’d secretly scoff a couple of burgers before my break – on top of the free meal I got. Yet, other than McDonald’s, I’d never been to a restaurant.
So, when I got to uni aged 18, I discovered new foods.
Chicken wings, footlong Subway sandwiches...
I’d blow almost my entire salary from working at a cinema on food.
The uni canteen was an open buffet, too, so I’d pile my plate high.
Then I found the most incredible cookie-dough ice cream... Secretly devoured an entire family-sized tub. Every night.
By my graduation in May 2017, I weighed 21st 6lb.
And, at over £4 a tub, I must’ve spent thousands on ice cream.
I started working as an art teacher, and the salary meant I could splurge on more food.
When I went on holiday with my brother that November, I could barely squeeze into the plane seat.
I was mortified.
But returning home a few days on, we found Dad was in hospital with diabetes complications.
‘I don’t want you to end up like me,’ he said.
Then, a few days later, as I offered a biscuit to my little sis...
‘No, I don’t want to end up fat like you,’ she shrugged.
She was only
5, didn’t realise the impact of her words.
But the airplane incident, Dad, and then her innocent honesty hit me hard.
It was time to put down the dessert spoon...
I secretly devoured a familysized tub – every night
Now my mind was made up, I wasted no time. I emptied the cupboards at home and work. Filling two huge bin bags with cakes, sugary snacks and fried food.
And I stopped cold turkey when it came to my nightly icecream binge.
‘I’m going to do it!’ I told my family.
They had heard it so many times over the years.
But, this time, I set up an Instagram account to document my journey.
Started a food journal, tracking everything I ate.
For the first month, I lived off salad.
Joined a gym, too.
But running quickly left me puffing and panting, and my big belly got in the way on the exercise bike.
So I started simple, walking on the treadmill for an hour every day.
It took every ounce of willpower not to give up.
And in the first month, while I lost 1st 3lb,
I felt tired, and realised I wasn’t eating enough.
If I wanted to burn fat, I needed the energy to do it.
So, upping my calorie intake with healthy choices, in March 2018, I started cooking meals myself, for the first time.
I bought some new pots and pans, experimented with cooking fresh chicken and veg soups.
‘I’m proud of you,’ Dad said.
And as I watched the pounds melt away, I felt incredible.
The gym became fun, and that June, I managed to start running. By November, a year since I’d begun, I’d lost 7st 2lb.
My skin hung loose around my tummy, causing a rash under the folds.
I wore tight compression bands to hold the excess flesh in place.
Maintaining my weight became my focus, but I was desperate to have surgery to remove the loose skin.
Finally, in June 2020,
I used my savings to have a tummy tuck. When I peered at my bandaged tummy a few days later, I gasped.
‘Is that really me?’ I said. I’d had a huge belly my entire life, and couldn’t believe it was gone.
After six weeks recovery, I looked forward to a whole new chapter,
But, then, Dad – my biggest supporter – died suddenly of a heart attack.
It devastated us all, and I needed time to grieve.
Now it was running that helped my mental health, not burying my head in a bowl of cookie-dough or raspberryripple ice cream.
It wasn’t easy, but I recalled how desperately Dad wanted me to be healthy.
Now, I’m size 14, weigh 13st 8lb.
I’m strength training, building muscle and allowing myself the odd treat – healthier ice cream alternatives, with less sugar – to satisfy my sweet tooth.
I still do a double take when I catch sight of my reflection.
But I’m proud of how far I’ve come – and, more importantly, I know Dad would be, too.
I don’t bury my head in a bowl of raspberry ripple
Follow Paige’s fitness journey on Instagram @justdreampaige