Exercise is a magical thing. It can make us feel free and powerful – like we can achieve anything. That’s something I’ve only discovered relatively recently when I chose to start moving joyfully, something that makes me feel good while benefiting both my mental and physical wellbeing. I don’t use exercise as a form of punishment like I once might have done and I no longer feel the need to “burn off” food or make up for only having done a little bit of exercise. I move because my body can, I move because being a plus-size woman doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy exercise, be active or more importantly, strong.

Growing up slightly bigger than other girls my age meant I had always had a somewhat peculiar relationship with exercise. School ingrained a hatred of sport because it instilled the idea a bigger body was somehow morally wrong. “Mollie, you should really go to the gym and get that weight off, then you’ll be able to run faster,” a PE teacher once remarked as I was trying to catch my breath after finishing my last loop of the field. I was 13. Fast forward three years and I remember cranking up the music on my iPod docking station and exercising until I felt light-headed. I wasn’t exercising because I enjoyed it or because it made me feel good – I was exercising to punish myself and because I wanted to change my body. Before my bath every night, I’d take to my bedroom and exhaust myself for 45 minutes non-stop in a ritual that continued for months.