I suppose the first thing you want to know about me is who I am and why I do what I do. I am just your run-of-the-mill teenager, no special talents, no links to fame, no major achievements worthy of note, just a guy who really enjoys fitness and health eating. Born in Bristol and raised in a small, and quite frankly irrelevant, town called Nailsea, I never really imagined being anything other than average, at school, sports, relationally, financially; I think it was fair to say I was content with just getting by, until a few bad choices and an unfortunate event took place that changed my life. I was always into football as a young-en, despite not being the most technically gifted player, I would play and play and play whenever and wherever I could. The act of playing football was my subconscious introduction to the physical side of fitness, although I was yet to delve into the nutritional, and in my opinion more important, aspect of healthy living. I was never one of the skinny lads at my school, this was down to my friends being big football lovers like myself and the fact that I was partial to a bowl of profiteroles every now and then, but I always wanted to be but I never had the discipline of motivation to change myself. The old saying that life is a rollercoaster couldn't be more applicable to my life thanks to decisions that i've made. Whilst playing football at my local school on a cold January evening with my friends, my body pivoted but my knee didn't which resulted in me hearing a "snap" before tumbling to the ground. After making it to my feet to discover my knee was no longer able to take my weight, I thought the best decision was to draw my evening to a close and make my way home. I gave it a couple of weeks rest and wearing a knee brace at all times before trying to play again, but I was rudely introduced to another "snap" and yet another tumble to the ground after trying to run on it. It was at this point that I knew that the injury was far more severe than I first thought. After a visit to my local GP and then hospital, the doctor was able to diagnose me with a ruptured ACL ligament, although I needed to have a CT scan to see the extent of my broken knee. The results came back supporting the diagnosis as well as highlighting that my cartilage was torn in three places and therefore if I ever wanted to kick a football again I would need to endure an operation and 12+ months of agonising rehabilitation, but to me, it would be worth it. Wednesday 10th June, 2015. The overwhelming realisation that this would be the day that I would go in for my operation and that to follow this would be over 12 months of learning to walk, run and kick again seemed repelling. My dad and I made our way to the hospital, although struggled to make conversation as it was evident that we were both apprehensive of the hours ahead. After being escorted to my room and selecting my post-op meal, it started to sink in the seriousness of the situation. My dad had to leave as he was needed at work and so after the door got pulled to for what seemed like an eternity and I saw the back of my father drift out of sight between the crack in the door, I sat on my bed and waited. Time seemed to pass slowly due to my constant checking of the clock, but with every glance I spared its way, I became more and more nervous. I was given hospital gowns to change into which, as you'd expect, weren't particularly flattering and I continued to play the waiting game. When the time came, my hospital bed and I were carted down to the operating theatre where I was greeted by a doctor who appeared as calm and collected as anyone I'd ever seen. The gentleman explained to me what was going to happen within the forthcoming five minutes and how before I knew it, I'd be waking up post-op and all this anticipation will be over. As general anaesthesia slowly made its way into my system, the terrifying feeling of seeing the world around me fade to black knowing that I didn't have an inch of control over is something that'll stick with me, although I didn't have long to dwell in this feeling before I fell into an unconscious slumber. I always knew that rehabilitation was going to be the highest mountain for me to climb on my way back to playing football, so it was no surprise to me the difficulties I had when learning to walk again, but I was determined not to give up that easily, I just had to make it to the elusive 3 month mark. As soon as I got to 3 months post-operation I could get to the gym and begin adding resistance to my training which I considered the next step to returning to full fitness. Rehab had been going well and I was well on schedule to returning back to sport by 12 months, which still seemed like a lifetime away at this point. However, I could slowly feel my determination start to wither away. The amount of training that I was doing was on the decline and the amount of unhealthy food I was eating was on the increase. It got to the point where I was getting about an hour of intense physical exercise a week, at most when I should have been getting about an hour a day. I was gaining weight rapidly and the chances of me ever returning back to sport was becoming more and more like a unachievable dream. Despite encouragement from my family and friends to regain my spark that I originally had for rehabilitation, I was unable to do so and continued down the path of a poor nutritional diet and no exercise. I brushed off rehabilitation for about 8 months. It got to the point where I had pretty much assured myself that I never wanted to return to sport and that I was content with travelling down the route I was on, the comfortable and easy option at that point in my life. For me to realise the error in my ways and relight the extinguished flame of motivation that had gone, I had to babysit a puppy on a scorching hot day in July while glugging down a 1.75litre bottle of Coca-Cola and watching The Jeremy Kyle Show. I was puppy-sititng my sister's doberman, who was unknowingly giving me more physical work than I faced in the previous 8 months by infusing endless amounts of energy into my day. As puppies do, they bound around everywhere creating mess and causing chaos before sleeping for a couple hours, leaving you to clean up before they wake up and start the cycle again. During a rare peaceful five minutes, I was able to stop chasing after the mischievous mutt and watch the tv. All of a sudden, as I rested my chin on my chest to form my own opinion on the distraught and implosive family on Jeremy Kyle, I was disgusted as my ever-expanding gut cut off the synopsis that features at the bottom of the screen. The fact that I had to pick my then 16 stone body up just to read what a group of strangers were arguing about which had no relevance to me, I considered an abomination. It was at this point that my 8 months of laziness had caught my attention and in a split second, I had gone from being perfectly content and comfortable with myself to being angered and disappointed. It was from this moment forth that I decided I was going to change the way I live by getting into the best shape I possibly could and leading a healthier life in general. The day after my puppy-sitting, I got myself to the gym and I had never been anywhere that felt so alien to me, but I was hellbent on not being put off. I set up a routine, which I believe is vital if you're going to be successful in fitness, I would go to the gym 5 days a week, resting on Wednesdays and Sundays. I set myself daily goals, depending on how I was feeling on the day, of the number of calories that I wanted to burn, some days it would be 300, some days it would be 800. The mentality that I developed was to make sure that every time I walked through the double doors of my gym, I would push myself as hard as I physically could. I recorded the number of calories I burned in each gym session on my iPod touch to make me feel as if I was making progress. I quickly discovered that if anyone is going to lose weight and get themselves to an exceptional physical level of fitness, then nutrition is just as, if not more, important that exercise. I went from a diet heavily composed of Coca-Cola, chocolate bars, sweets, pizza and other low nutritional food to nothing but salmon, chicken, salad and water. I was so desperate to change how I was so I decided to cut out carbohydrates from my diet completely, which I wouldn't recommend as it isn't the healthiest way to lose weight. I went on a crash course of losing weight to the point that when I weighed myself five months after 21st July (the day I started), I clocked in at 11 stone, meaning I lost almost a third of my previous body weight. I suppose the one thing most people want to know is, was it worth it? I can confidently say that it was the single best decision of my life. Not only do I feel better about myself, but i'm also happier in general, more confident and so many other positives that have come out of it. Not only this but about a month ago, I was able to return back to the sport I love, football. A goal that, at one point seemed unachievable to me, I was able to reach and return back to the sport that gave me so many happy moments during my school life, all because I made some important decisions that I would urge others to make. It was undoubtably the hardest mountain i've ever climbed, but it has been one hell of a ride and if I could go back to 21st July, I would do it all again.
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