Under the Surface

Someone said to me recently: “You look better now, but it wouldn’t be as easy for me as it was for you.”

I didn’t know what to say. Not because they were wrong — changes did happen. But they happened so gradually that I barely noticed them myself. There was no dramatic turning point, no before-and-after moment, no meal planning, no calorie counting, no six-week programme pinned to the fridge. No Instagram stories of my “journey”. I just shifted things, bit by bit. Under the surface.

And maybe that’s exactly why it looked easy from the outside.

In 2025, I changed quite a lot. On paper, the list is long. I aimed for 100 km of cycling per week and cycled over 3,400 km at the end of the year. I added strength exercises, two or three times a week, fifteen minutes each.

I walked or cycled everywhere instead of taking public transport or reaching for the car keys. I spent more time outside, especially when the weather gave me every reason not to (and Scotland does that plenty).

On the food side: less bread, less pasta, barely any alcohol — once a month, if that. More fibre, more protein, more potatoes. Instead of toast, seeds and oats for breakfast. Yogurt and fruit instead of whatever biscuit was lying around when I felt snacky in the afternoon. Dates, bananas or some dark chocolate instead of sweets. Nuts and seeds instead of crisps. I cut out most ultra-processed food.

Read that list back and it sounds like a regime, but it wasn’t.

The thing is none of it happened at once. I didn’t wake up one morning and changed everything. I stacked one small habit onto another, gradually over weeks and months, until the new way of doing things just became the way I do things. Each change slipped under the surface before the next one arrived.

First, the cycling. I set myself that 5,000 km goal and if I wanted to achieve it (I didn’t quite in the end), I needed to go out and ride more. Once I was riding regularly, the body started asking for more movement. It seems absurd: the energy you spend creates new energy. You’d think moving more would leave you drained, but the opposite happened. The more I rode, the more capacity I had — not just physically, but mentally too.

So I added the strength work. Fifteen minutes of bodyweight exercises, a few times a week. Not a costly gym membership. Not a 12-week programme. Simply enough to feel stronger on the bike and in daily life.

Once I was moving more, I had to learn how to fuel my body properly for those long sessions on my bike. Empty carbs stopped making sense when I knew I’d feel sluggish later. So I swapped them for more nutritious alternatives that’ll give me more energy.

Then the bread and pasta: reduced, not eliminated. Less frequent. The humble potato filled the gap. I was already hand-cutting chips. Seeds, nuts and oats with (oat) milk became a staple for breakfast. Nuts also replaced crisps. Each change was small enough that it felt like a swap and not like a sacrifice.

The alcohol was similar. I didn’t quit. Without alcohol, I slept better and recovered faster. Then, I noticed I didn’t miss it most of the time. So I stopped drinking by default and kept it for social occasions. Sharing a beer with a good friend is a nice ritual.

Each change was small and built on the one before it. As a result, there was never a moment of deprivation. I wasn’t giving things up. I was replacing them with things that worked better.

Once you feel better, you don’t crave the old thing the way you expected to.

That’s what habit stacking does. It makes the new normal feel normal. Things change and as they change, you change. Things are different, and you become different.

In 2026, I started running. Not instead of cycling — alongside it. A year ago that would’ve felt absurd. But by then my body was ready, and the idea of adding another form of movement didn’t feel like a stretch. It felt like the next logical thing. Another layer, settling quietly under the surface.

But from the outside, all anyone sees is the result. They see the whole list at once and think: that’s a lot of change. And they’re right — it is a lot, if you tried to do it all in one go.

So when someone says “it wouldn’t be as easy for me,” I think they’re reacting to the cumulative picture, not the actual process. They’re seeing a destination and assuming the journey was a straight line. But it wasn’t. It was months of tiny adjustments, each one barely noticeable, stacking up into something that eventually looked like a transformation.

I didn’t feel like I was changing my lifestyle. I felt like I was just making slightly better choices, one at a time, and letting them compound.

There’s something else worth saying. I’m not lacking anything. I still eat well — arguably better than before. One bigger than usual meal won’t make a difference. I still enjoy a drink when the occasion calls for it, or when I feel like it. A cold beer on a warm day after a long ride hits differently when it’s not your third of the week.

I have lazy days and enjoy treats. I haven’t become some ascetic who runs on willpower and self-denial. It’s not taken over my life.

If anything, I enjoy food more now because my diet is even more varied than it was before. The changes didn’t take things away. They made space for better versions of the same things.

Was it easy? I’m not sure that’s the right question. I also can’t pretend it was effortless. The cycling takes time. Preparing food from scratch takes more effort than reaching for a ready-meal or something from the freezer. Choosing to walk in the rain when the car is right there requires a small act of will, every single time. You introduce a little bit of friction, where you could opt for convenience.

But because each of those things arrived gradually, they didn’t feel like a new burden. They felt like the current version of how I live. That’s the strange thing about changes that happen under the surface — by the time you notice them, they’re already part of you.

Bodies are different, lives are different, and what worked for me might not work for you.

I hate giving advice, but if you let me give one piece, it’s this: don’t try to change everything at once. Change one thing. Let it settle. Let it sink under the surface. Then change the next thing. And the next. And the next. Keep compounding positive change.

It won’t look impressive while it’s happening. But one day someone will tell you it looks easy, and you’ll sit down and write a blog post about it.