Two decades of the most horrendous life experiences that I comfort-ate my way through meant my weight increased steadily every year.
At my heaviest, I was 128 kilos. I managed to get that down to 112 after having cancer, before it started to climb again. Over the next year, I lost 3 kg on my own—and it was the hardest thing I’d ever done. I was exhausted and completely demoralised by the effort. The weight just didn’t move, despite me being a fat cross-fitter. I now know I was insulin resistant—it was diagnosed by a physician.
Thirteen months ago, I woke up one morning to face yet another bloody day of feeling like a huge bloody failure. Within a few hours, I had seen my physician and been prescribed Mounjaro. I couldn’t face another day the way I was living—with my weight negatively consuming my every waking moment. Mounjaro, along with things I’ve put in place whilst on it, has been the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. That is, apart from getting some strange things going on with my belly checked out—which turned out to be a 6 kg malignant ovarian cyst.
Does being on Mounjaro mean you give yourself an injection, go to bed, then wake up in a puddle of melted fat the next day? Nope—though it does suit millions of people who aren’t on it to believe so. However, there are some idiots who are using it dangerously and do manage to inject, go to bed, and melt. Thankfully, these people are very much a minority, and anyone using Mounjaro properly can spot them a mile off—usually within a couple of sentences of their first post here.
I’d been having counselling for a few years to deal with the things I’d lived through, and I continued it whilst on Mounjaro. It was part of what I called my whole-person approach to my weight loss journey. I concentrated on my physical health, with a good dose of mental and emotional health thrown in for good measure.
Almost 13 months after starting Mounjaro, my weight has gone from 109 to 83.5 kilos. I’m no longer on medication for prediabetes or high blood pressure. My cholesterol levels—like my other numbers—are at the excellent end of the normal range. My mental and emotional health is also great, and I’m just 10 mg a day away from being off the Seroxat I was put on after my cancer diagnosis. That diagnosis was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and my breakdown had been a long time coming.
I have no intention of getting to the upper end of my BMI. I’d look like a skeleton if I did. With my doctor’s help, I chose 85 kg as my target, and I reached it a few weeks ago. Since then, I’ve lost another 1.5 kg. I’ll stay on Mounjaro until I reach 82, at which point I’ll have a DEXA scan to see what’s going on with my visceral fat. If I’m told to lose another few kilos, I will—but there’s no way I’ll ever go down to 74 kg, which is the upper end of my BMI. I’m still exercising, and as the weight has come off, the muscles that were hiding under my fat have become very obvious.
I’ve lost a steady 400 g a week over the last year. I’ve eaten really well—even when my mind was telling me, “You’re not hungry; you could go without that and lose an extra 50 g this week.” It was never going to happen. I wanted optimum nutrition. I’ve lost the weight on 1,400–1,500 calories a day, and I’ve only managed it because I practised saying no until it became second nature. Oh and apart from a few weeks on a dose of 12.5 that made me feel like death warmed up I’ve been on a dose of 10 from about 6 months in.
Will I stay on Mounjaro forever? No. It was never part of my plan. Whilst I’m a bit nervy about going it alone in about four months, I’m excited to try. I really want to, and I’m hoping that wanting to stay very healthy—as opposed to simply staying slim—is what keeps me going every day for the rest of my life.