Body Mass Index

Oh dear. I have nagged my doctor into sending me to the NHS Health Trainer in an effort to get someone other than me to take responsibility for my hefty figure. I finally got the appointment through last week and hurried along to meet a man called Max.

Max had to do the weighing and measuring first and work out my BMI (that's Body Mass Index, not a cheap flight to the Costa del Sol). You can work out your BMI online if you want to. It tells you what level of fat you have for your height.

It comes as no surprise that my BMI stalks home at a massive 31+, which is comfortably into the obese level of being a fat git. Max didn't want to depress me, but the website happily goes onto tell me that I'm likely to die young of cancer, heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure and numerous other fun illnesses. I can hardly wait.

So, Max showed me some pictures of food and explained that I should eat less fatty food and sugary gloop. (No? Really?). I pointed out that my weight problem is nothing to do with ignorance, and everything to do with being so completely exhausted that counting calories usually gets forgotten before lunchtime. Then I stuff in something sugary in an attempt to keep going until the evening shift.

Actually I read something last week about how even 30 minutes missed sleep a night can alter hormone levels. That causes an increase in hunger leading to weight gain. I'm missing about an hour a night, on average, so it is hardly surprising I'm the size of a hot air balloon and significantly heavier that one too.

Max referred me to Weight Watchers. The local authority have bought a year's supply of Weight Watchers' memberships. It runs out at the end of March, so I was one of the last few lucky people to get 3 months worth of meetings for free. The pack arrived yesterday, but I shall start after Easter, when my head is a bit more together and the chocolate season is over.

I am aiming to shed 40lb in the impossibly short time of 3 months. I know that is way too fast, and if I shed half of that I will be very happy indeed. However, I have to really go for it, or I am heading for an early grave, which is, let's face it, kinda crap.

Easter egg anyone?

Nothing Changes

I'm way too depressed about the state of my body to even write about it at the moment. To fill you in on the details: I weigh more now than I did when I started going to the gym. I weigh more now than when I started rock-climbing and I weigh more now than I did when I was 9 months pregnant.

The NHS Fit for Life thing focuses on the childrens' diets, rather than their parents'. It seems to reckon that none of my skinny kids eat enough fruit and veg and all eat to many snacks. Hell only knows what they would make of my diet then!

The doctor referred me to a Get Fit health centre, which has taken 3 weeks to fix up an appointment for 3 weeks' time. Not exactly instant fix, then. The doctor has also given me a new glucose monitor, but reckons I'm not diabetic enough for treatment yet. Whatever that means.

All in all, I think I need a kitkat and a cup of tea to get over it.