![]() Lots of sugar-free gum to manage my cravings. Jenny prescribed me a strict diet, with no sugar, no sauces, no slip-ups. I would love more ab definition (especially lower abs) and to grow my back to create the illusion of a smaller waist.Īfter I spent four days obsessively refreshing my inbox, she responded. Attached photos I’d taken in my underwear, using the self-timer on my phone. So, I bought her “weight loss and toning journey” programme, and sent her an enthusiastic email detailing everything I wanted to change about my body. I didn’t necessarily want to be a bodybuilder. She was Insta-famous, known for her “Booty Bible” that promised shapely glutes to anyone with $15.99 to spare. I’d recently started working with a bodybuilding coach. This trip was an annoying disruption to my eating and exercising regime. The girls planned out the grocery shop, checked whether the bach had towels, tallied the number of wine bottles we should buy. In the days leading up to our holiday, the group chat exploded. A cosy girls weekend away, snuggled inside a log cottage, hiding from the winter westerlies, drinking cheap wine and reminiscing. ![]() A group of my high school friends hired a bach in Hanmer Springs. Imagined the fat on my stomach melting away. I assumed the plank position and drove my knees into my chest. Enough time for a hundred mountain climbers. I peered around the door, saw my friends still tangled in crocheted quilts, fast asleep. I didn’t want them to catch me, in my flannel nightie, burning through burpees in secret. ![]() It was 7am and soon, my friends would wake up in a sticky hungover haze. Tried not to make too much noise as my body thumped against the floor. Note: This essay discusses and describes disordered eating. The Sunday Essay is made possible thanks to the support of Creative New Zealand. My trainer said she was happier than she’d ever been.
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