Reflections: You've come a long way, baby!

So I had this dream that I was walking down the street on which I used to live. I found my old house, and it looked just the same as it did when I lived there. For some reason, I didn’t have any issues with opening the door and walking right in. The house was quiet, and there didn’t seem to be anyone around. I knocked on my old bedroom door, and someone said “What?” in a fairly pissed-off tone. I poked my head in, and there I was, lying on the bed, eating ice-cream.

It was me, and I think I was about 15 years old, or thereabouts. I had terrible hair, I was pale, I looked unhealthy. I was quite chubby.

The dream kind of fell apart at this point, but if the dream continued and I could control it, I know what I would have done. I would have sat down and told the younger version of myself that I’m running my second marathon on Sunday. I would have told her that life isn’t always as shit as it seemed back then. I would have said that there’s more to life than unhealthy food and television. I would have told her that she’d live to the age of 30. She’d actually enjoy running and being strong and she’d actually come to like the way she looked. She’d come to love herself, if only occasionally.

I would tell the 15-year old me that there would be ups and downs throughout her life, that she would get fatter before she got thinner, then she’d only lose 5 kilos before she gave up and got even fatter than before. I would tell her that this was okay, because crash dieting isn’t a sustainable method of weight loss. And one day, she’d lose the weight and she wouldn’t put it back on. I’d tell her that the way she used to say that she would never be a size 10 because of her bone structure was a load of bullshit, and one day she’d be wearing a size 8 in some stuff and she’d still have fairly decent tits.

I would impress upon the 15 year-old me that it is possible to run 42 kilometres without dying, that speed isn’t everything and even though she would be slow, she would always get there in the end.

I would tell her that she would one day kick herself out of her misery spiral, and she would come to realise the beauty in the universe.

And, only after I’d told her all this, and I’d made her promise that she’d cheer the fuck up, only then, I would take her ice-cream and I would eat it, because ice-cream is awesome. And I want some ice-cream. Why don’t I have ice-cream?

I would tell you what the moral behind all this is, but I don’t really think there is one.