From Gym Dropout to Fitness Fanatic: How I (Finally) Got My Life Together

I have been in an on-again, off-again relationship with fitness for years. Think of it as a toxic situationship—I would get motivated, hit the gym, eat like a rabbit (or not at all), then hop on the scale, see a higher number than before, and promptly ghost the entire process. I mean, what was the point? If suffering through lettuce and endless squats wasn’t making me smaller, then clearly, science was broken. But then, a few months down the line, I’d see a mini skirt that I should be able to wear, and boom—motivation back. Cue the vicious cycle: starve, gym, cry at the scale, quit. Rinse and repeat.

The Struggle Was Real (And Also, Hormonally Unstable)

My weight didn’t just fluctuate—it yo-yo’d like it was training for the circus. University stress, assignments, exams, and whatever demon possessed me to eat two packs of Indomie at 1 a.m. certainly weren’t helping. I just wanted to be smaller—forget health, forget strength—I wanted my wide hips to stop making skirts look obscenely short, and I wanted my jeans to give “Greek column,” not “ancient ruins.”

That Time My Body Betrayed Me at TESPO Market

Fast forward to my late twenties. I was working in consulting—meaning my life was basically one long, unpaid internship with overtime. On top of that, I was studying for the GMAT because, apparently, I like suffering.

Then one Saturday morning, my mom and I went grocery shopping at TESPO Market on Spintex Road. Halfway through bargaining for the world’s largest yam, something felt off. I wasn’t in pain, I wasn’t sick—I just felt wrong. Like my body was sending me an “SOS” in Morse code, and I was too sleep-deprived to translate.

I told my mom, and she, being the concerned Ghanaian mother she is, said, “Let’s go to Danpong and check your blood pressure.” (Which was conveniently right across the road—shoutout to location strategy.)

We walked in, the nurse took my BP, and then she looked at me like I was a medical marvel.

“How are you standing?” she asked. “How did you even walk in here? Your pressure is so high you should be unconscious.”

Ah. So that’s why I felt weird. Also what the nurse said did not help with my nerves either. Today if i met her i would ask “maame nurse what if i fainted because of what you said??” I digress…

Now, I am a logical person. I understand risk. But when a nurse questions your ability to exist in real-time, it does something to your soul. The message was clear: if I didn’t get my health together, my body was going to collect its things and leave.

The Half-Hearted Attempts

Of course, my parents had been yelling at me for years to eat well, exercise, and stop testing the limits of my bloodstream with junk food. Now, fear had me juicing with them, going on their little walks, pretending to be invested. But I was still overworked, under-rested, and relying on vibes to function.

I tried. I really did. But between work, driving in Accra, studying, and my commitment to ignoring my bedtime, my health was still trash. I was eating better and moving more, I stopped driving ( I honestly believe it contributed to the stress I was experiencing) but exhaustion was always waiting for me at the finish line.

The Great Awakening (Or, When I Finally Got My Act Together)

After my MBA, I moved to the UK in 2021, and that’s when I realized: if I didn’t start prioritizing myself, I was going to crash. Hard.

So I did something radical. I made a schedule and—actually stuck to it.

• Working out? Check.

• Eating well? Check.

• Drinking water? Check.

• Sleeping like a responsible adult? Would you believe…check?

It took four years of consistency, but let me tell you—I feel fantastic. My resting heart rate is below 60 on average, I can climb the Stairmaster for 30 minutes without reconsidering my life choices, and my body? It functions! Am I smaller? No. But do I care? Also no.

And you know what helped the most? Documenting my journey. Putting my progress out there kept me accountable, and seeing how far I’d come made it impossible to quit.

To Everyone in Their “This Feels Impossible” Phase—It Will Pass

I won’t lie to you—getting here was hell. I started and stopped so many times, and every time I quit, it felt like proof that I would never be that person who actually enjoys fitness. But then I was.

So if you’re currently in that miserable, frustrating, “why am I even doing this” phase—keep going. It won’t always feel this hard. And one day, you’ll look back at your old self, huffing and puffing after two flights of stairs, and think, Wow. Look at me now.

And then? You’ll feel unstoppable.