Jason Brownlie Coach

You’ve done enough diets to qualify for a loyalty card.

Cut the carbs. Count the points. Drink the shakes.

Then someone puts a jacket potato in front of you and you react like they’ve served you crack.

You might lose weight. I’m not arguing with that.

I’m asking what happens afterwards.

When you’re knackered on a Wednesday, the kids want feeding and you can’t be arsed preparing a separate dinner from your laminated list of approved foods.

Did the diet teach you how to handle that?

Or did it teach you to call yourself a failure and start again on Monday?

And yes, you’ve still got work to do.

Portions matter. Habits matter. You can’t sack them off because you’ve decided diets are bo****ks.

But before you pay for another plan, ask what you’ll actually learn beyond following orders.

Because “just do it again” is a lovely business model when you’re the one collecting the money.

Fancy getting out of that loop?

Grab my free Diet Escape Plan.

Link in my bio or check comments below on Facebook

“I’ll enjoy life when I’ve got my s**t together.”

I’ve told myself that more times than I care to admit.

When there’s more money.
When work settles down.
When I’ve lost the weight.
When there’s less to worry about.

Meanwhile, your kids are getting older.
Your parents are getting older.
And so are you.

You’re having dinner with people you love, but your head’s still at work.

You finally get a day off and feel guilty because you “should be doing something.”

Even when something goes well, you barely acknowledge it before deciding it’s still not enough.

I know that feeling.

And no, a sunset doesn’t pay the bills. The pressure doesn’t disappear because you put your phone down.

But the people sat beside you deserve more than whatever’s left of you after the worrying.

So do you.

I still want to build a better life.

But I don’t want my daughters remembering a dad who was always there, yet always thinking about somewhere else.

That’s too high a price.

Joe, you ate some cookies. Why does everyone else need to get involved?

Unless this is less about the biscuits and more about the sign-ups?

Calling it a “bender”, then inviting everyone into a seven-day sugar-free challenge?

That’s where I’m calling bulls**t.

You’ve eaten more sweet stuff than you wanted. You don’t feel great. Fair enough.

But why does YOUR overindulgence need to become everyone else’s food ban?

“Comment SUGAR.”

Ah yes. What looks like an automated DM funnel. Even escaping the biscuit tin apparently needs a marketing system.

I market my coaching too. The funnel isn’t my objection. The message is.

And with an audience of millions, that message deserves scrutiny.

Calling eating cookies a “bender”, then offering a food ban as the answer? To me, that risks promoting disordered attitudes towards eating.

“I’ve been bad. Now I need to restrict.”

That’s exactly the thinking I want my clients to get away from. Why dress it up as a f*cking challenge?

How many people reading this have already spent YEARS bouncing between restriction and “I’m starting again Monday”?

What are you teaching them to do on day eight, Joe?

When there’s birthday cake?
When work’s been s**t?
When one biscuit becomes “I’ve f*cked it, might as well eat the packet”?

THAT’S where coaching earns its money.

I teach people to build regular meals, routines they can actually live with, and the ability to eat something sweet without declaring the week a write-off.

Eat fewer cookies if you want.

But calling it a “bender” and following it with a ban is a message I think deserves challenging.

You ate a biscuit. You don’t need a redemption arc.

So explain the day-eight plan. Beyond “comment SUGAR”.

Joe Wicks

I’ll be honest.

2026 hasn’t exactly been a vintage year.

Turning 50 was a brilliant moment… and since then there have been times when it’s felt like someone released the handbrake and pointed the year downhill.

Physically, mentally, financially… there have been more lows than I’ve experienced for a long time.

And I know I’m not alone.

Everything feels noisy at the moment.

Prices going up. Bills going up. People worrying about money. Social media screaming at us. News telling us what we should be terrified or angry about next.

Even the health and fitness world seems to have lost the plot half the time.

More tracking. More rules. More quick fixes. More injections. More people being made to believe they need something complicated to sort themselves out.

Sometimes you just want to switch the whole lot off.

And for a few days, we’ve been able to.

We were lucky enough to get the use of a campervan and headed off around Scotland.

Nothing elaborate.

Just the four of us.

Moving from one place to another. Chilling. Talking. Eating. Laughing. Sitting looking at views like this without needing to be anywhere else.

And it has genuinely felt like a breath of fresh air.

Because when life gets heavy, it’s very easy to spend so much time worrying about what’s going wrong that you forget to notice what’s right in front of you.

These moments.

My family.

A daft campervan trip around Scotland.

A sunset we’ll probably still talk about years from now.

I’m not posting this for sympathy. I don’t need a round of applause because life’s been difficult.

Life does that sometimes.

But perhaps I needed reminding that not everything valuable appears on a bank statement, a set of scales, a business spreadsheet or an Instagram insights screen.

Some things are just a moment.

And if you’re lucky enough to realise it while you’re still in it, hold onto it.

We’re now heading towards the final stop of our little Scottish adventure — Loch Lomond.

And I’m not particularly excited about normal life starting again. 🥴

But I’m going back with a slightly clearer head…

…and a camera roll full of things money couldn’t buy. 👩🏻‍❤️‍👨🏻👧👱‍♀️