Weighty matters
Christopher Snowdon has a piece in the Spectator.
It got me thinking, not about CRUK and their obsession with people’s health but his statement that “‘Overweight’ is a term that has no medical significance.”
So what weight should I be?
Naturally there are all sorts of tables and charts floating around but without even trying to find them, I can guarantee there is no conformity or “international standard”.
I have never worried about my weight. The earliest I remember was that I weighed in at around ten stone when I was fifteen. I stuck at that weight for around another fifteen years and then started gaining a little in my thirties. I think I peaked at around thirteen stone a while ago and have ebbed and flowed between eleven and thirteen ever since. But is this where I should be, and more importantly – why?
I will be honest – I do keep a little eye out for my weight. The only reason I do so is to monitor my waist size. The reason for that is simple – if the waistline expands a bit then half my trousers won’t fit me any more and I would have to go and buy some new trousers and I fucking hate shopping, particularly for clothes.
Some years ago I was on holiday in West Cork. I visited Bantry on market day and happened to pass a stall selling leather goods. I’m not an impulse buyer, but a belt caught my eye and I decided to buy it. It was harness grade leather and I was assured it would last longer than I would. Hah!
I have worn that belt virtually every day since. It is still as good as new, apart from small marks where the buckle has pressed against the strap. So I can say with confidence that judging by those marks, my waist has varied by about two inches in all that time. The only time I began to worry was when I developed a thing for Mars Bars and decided to quit them again as a shopping trip for trousers loomed.
I have asked Doc in the past what weight I should be and he just shrugged and said whatever weight I was.
Sound like a good definition of ideal weight?
Great stuff! A former girlfriend bought me a leather belt in 2003. I remember the date cos it’s the same year I split with my wife (oops!); since that time I have made a couple of extra holes in it as my waist expanded for some unknown reason, but it couldn’t have been the beer because beer is 95% water of course! Anyhow in recent months I have embarked on a breakfast regime of eating fruit instead of eggs, bacon, fried bread, etc. Am now back to using the original holes in the belt which shows, 15 years later, that it was a bloody good belt to last so long (probably expensive, but we did love each other enormously for about 3 months so her purchase was justified), and, as I probably drink far more beer than I did in 2003, it proves that beer was never the problem!
They say that gravity pulls down all the liquid stuff inside the solid skeleton, so a spreading waist is probably just your lungs heading south. Spend your days standing on your head and you’ll soon look like Charles Atlas again.
My father recommends elastic belts as a sure guard against obesity!
Fair point. Stick drawing pins around the inside of the belt and you could be onto a winner?
“So what weight should I be?”
It doesn’t matter. You’re either overweight or underweight. Either way, you need intervention from Nanny
I’m five foot ten – and being retired, now tip the scales at just over fourteen stone. I’m not overweight, just undertall.
And I’m happy with it ‘cos as long as long as I feel OK, I don’t GAF!
At my last company medical a little over three years ago, my cholesterol level was less than four, my pulse rate around fifty eight (wasn’t a nubile young nurse) yet I adore fish & chips, a full fried breakfast with lots of fried bread, and Chinese and Indian takeaways – not all at the same time, though. I’m also something of a chocaholic and enjoy a few beers.
Sod the nannies! I’m content.
According to South Park, you’re just big boned. I haven’t the faintest idea what all my levels and the like are. Doc never seems to worry so why should I? There again, it could just be the drugs he helps himself to that keep him calm? I have never counted calories in my life and don’t intend to now. It smacks far too much like narcissistic neurosis to my way of thinking.