Let’s rip off the Band-Aid… and maybe the buttons off my jeans.

Right. It’s time. No more pretending I’m just “carrying a bit of lockdown weight” or “bulking emotionally.” This is the moment we face the facts — the raw, painful, slightly embarrassing truths about how out of shape I’ve become.

So grab a snack (preferably a high-protein one), and join me for this glorious confessional.

1. The Big Numbers (No Judgement, Just Facts… and maybe tears)

The last time I weighed myself, the scale coughed politely and said:

🧍‍♂️ 240lbs (That’s 17st 2lbs or 109kg depending on which country you’d like to cry in.)

Honestly? That’s the heaviest I’ve ever been. And while I’d love to blame my shoes, gravity, or Mercury in retrograde… the truth is, I ate like a raccoon in a bin for a solid 12 months and washed it down with plenty of liquids whilst hibernating in my local cellar.

Now, let’s round out the trauma with some other vital stats:

• Waist: 44 inches (RIP jeans from 2021)
• Chest: Somewhere between “dad bod” and “dad sofa” at 48 inches
• Mood when taking measurements: -100/10 — would not recommend!

Progress photos have also been taken. They’re not going online just yet because I need time to emotionally process the angles. But rest assured — they exist, and they are… humbling – he says as he cries into his ball of tissues.

2. How I Got Here (Spoiler: Stress + Snacks = Sofa Bod)

Life’s been a bit of a whirlwind. Or maybe just a low-budget soap opera ith bad lighting and no snacks left in the vending machine.

So here’s a little context…

During Covid, I moved to Wales — my first time leaving Birmingham, the greatest second city in the world (don’t argue, just accept it). I moved to be with my partner and because I was guaranteed a job where she worked. All I had to do was go through the interview process. Easy, right?

Spoiler: I didn’t get it.

So, there I was — jobless, in a new place I didn’t know, feeling like I’d just been drop-kicked out of my comfort zone and into a sheep-filled void of uncertainty. It was a bit of a kick in the teeth… followed by a quiet “welcome to rural Wales, mate” from the universe.

Fast forward nearly five years, and here’s where we’re at:

• Trying to find somewhere new to live? (Yay, back to England! No offence Wales!) Stressful.
• Car dying a slow, wheezy death? Also stressful.
• Juggling everything while pretending I’m fine? Oh, very stressful.

And what do I do when I’m stressed?

I eat. I drink. I skip workouts. I get caught in the “I’ll start Monday” loop. And suddenly it’s 2025, and I’m built like a small hatchback with a heartbeat.

I could list all the reasons, but let’s just call it Life: 1, Me: 0 — and accept that while my prep hasn’t been perfect, I’m still here, still showing up, and that counts for something. Right?

3. Where I’m Heading (And Why This Time Feels Different)

So what’s the plan?

I’m not aiming for six-pack abs or some influencer transformation montage. I just want to feel stronger, fitter, and like I could carry a sofa up some stairs without dying (especially since we’ll be moving house soon and I can’t afford to bribe anyone with pizza anymore).

Here are the main goals:

• Weight: Drop around 40lbs over time (slow and steady, no crash dieting nonsense).
• Fitness: Regain strength, build endurance, stop getting out of breath tying my shoes.
• Clothes: Fit into old favourites — and clothes I’ve never worn — without resembling a sausage roll in denim.
• Life: Be able to enjoy the stuff I love without my body fighting me every step of the way.

And yes — I’m still winging part of it. Especially food right now. The weekend got eaten up by life admin, car drama, and a solid hour of me pretending cleaning the kitchen counted as cardio.

But here’s the difference this time:
I’m not letting “imperfect” be the excuse for “do nothing.”

I’ve started. That’s what matters.

Final Thoughts

This blog is part therapy, part accountability, and part proof that you don’t need to be perfect to start rebuilding. You just need to own where you’re at — even if where you’re at is surrounded by snacks, moving boxes, and mild panic.

This is Day Zero. The damage is done. But now, the rebuild begins.

No filters. No flexing. Just facts, flaws, and a ridiculous amount of determination (fueled by coffee and protein oats – maybe).

Let’s get it. 💪

PS — yes, yes, I know this is late — two weeks too late — but I have started; this will be covered in the next blog post.

See you there.