THE BMI MACHINE
Those who know me will know that I have always been a bit larger than the norm, a bit like Obelix I suppose. Yes, I fell in the magic pot and was in there for a wile, it seems. Supersized for life!!
Being so visible has its advantages and disadvantages, but let’s not dwell on that. I have always said “As long as you breathe you can do something about it, a comeback of some sort you know. Well I hope I am now on that comeback and that’s where I’ll start.
A couple of weeks back my lovely wife started a very strict diet and successfully lost eight kgs in a couple of weeks. (Please don’t ask me to convert things to stone. I am always afraid that if I do so, I might be weighed in mountains in stead of stone) Anyways, being the supportive husband I am I thought I should probably join her, by doing so starting my new year’s resolution, albeit eight months late.
Dukan, I was told and after an hour long planning session, I was very happy to learn that meat, fish and chicken were high on the meals list and as a bonus for the first ten days, I SHOULD NOT eat any vegetables – surely a win-win situation. That brought the next challenge…
The Weigh in:
As I mentioned earlier, I am big. Like a heavy, heavyweight boxer, filling a room, but still light on my feet (I think, or that’s what my brain tells me anyway). This does mean that a normal house scale is to no use to me and I need to make a bit of an effort to see how much gravity I drag along. With excitement I found a Boots in Woodley, not to far from work and with the appropriate machine, a BMI monitor. It took me 15 minutes to manoeuvre my cruiser to the parking lot, followed by the usual search for change to keep me legal and with a “bounce” in my step I was off to access the last years’ damage, full of hope that it was not too bad.
Well, it did not start well. I was asked to go from one counter to the next, crossing the room several times, just to get change for the 50p I would need to be enlightened. Eventually a senior employee with the correct authorisation came to my help, my ever so calm features, drawn into a red frown. I was pointed to the machine neatly tucked between two of those picture processors.
Without drawing more attention to myself, I quietly walked over and asked the one lady, in awe of her holiday pictures, to shift a bit to the left.
I stepped to the plate, to be measured, in all sense!!
“PLEASE STAND STILL WHILE YOUR HIGHT AND WEIGH ARE MEASURED!!!!” the bloody thing started. I thought, Ok, just stand still and it will stop. It didn’t. Hysterically, I searched for the volume control. It was loud, the lady to my left now further away as she saw me, desperate to kill the noise. Well, needless to say, it did not help. By the 11th annoying prompt I realised that there would be no relief, I lost hope and just stood there, weak…
so it measured….
By the time it finished, everyone knew why I was there and worse of all was the realisation that this could be a weekly occurrence.
I still don’t know what stunned me more that day, my results or the patronising blaring BMI machine…
