For a good long time now, many years, I’ve had an uneasy relationship with my body. For many years I hated how skinny it was and especially when I came back from London (far left) I was way too thin. There were advantages to being that thin, I got away with eating way too much rubbish, but that also let me to abuse the privilege. Even when I was really fit, I didn’t care for my body much. I wanted to be more muscular, more defined, pretty much anything but what I was.

For the past 18 months or so I’ve been the most out of shape that I’ve ever been and I’ve hated it. I was saying to one of the girls on Monday night, probably half an hour before I hurt myself, that I felt like my body and I have been arguing with each other for a year or more. My body was telling me that it was sick of being taken advantage of and living with domestic abuse in the form of bad dietary habits. I was yelling at it for it betraying me after so many years of leading me to believe it was going to be faithful forever. Well on Monday night the arguments spilled over and my body snapped. Specifically the tendons in my biceps have snapped, but from here on in my body and I are going into couples therapy. I’m going to slowly have to learn how to rebuild the trust, while learning how to respect my body all over again and not take it for granted. Fingers crossed (delicately, lots of things are sore at the moment) we will end up being in a stronger relationship than we have been for a very long time.

Why can’t we appreciate what we have while we have it?