Tag Archives: overweight

A rant about tipping the scales…

For the long time readers of this blog, you will know that I struggle with my weight.  I have always struggled with my weight and I suspect it is something I will ALWAYS have to have an eye on, for the rest of my days.  However, in the last 3 weeks, I have decided that I am back on the dietary wagon, and I am bound and determined to get the excess weight off this time.  I have given myself targets, I have decided on the treats I am going to give myself when I reach those targets, I have even given myself time scales in which to do it (though I am going to be flexible on those!).

There is nothing that irritates me more though, then people telling me that “losing weight is simple.  Just eat less and move more.”  What a pile of horse hocky.  If it were that simple, don’t you think that we all would be stick thin and no one would be overweight at all?  For some people, maybe it is that easy, but for others?  No, it is more complicated than that.

And who decides who is overweight anyway?  Well, in most western countries, the medical profession relies on an Index called the Body Mass Index.  It is a conjunction of your weight and your height.  Depending on where you come on the matrix you are classified as being overweight, clinically obese or morbidly obese.  What they fail to tell you though, is how that Index was dreamed up.  You might think it was the greatest medical minds of their generation putting their heads together and coming up with something that truly reflects the health of the citizenry and that it is a number and a score with a lot of research behind it.  Ummm… no actually.

The BMI was dreamt up by some doctor who had been given the job of proving that the Soliders in WW1 trenches were being given enough food and weren’t poorly nourished.  Patently, they were poorly nourished, and patently it caused all sorts of health problems, but the index was put together as “proof” that Private Joe Bloggs, this tall and this weight, was actually the right weight for his height, even though he really, really wasn’t.

So, the tool which I have been judged against for most of my life is actually a tool of 100 year old war propaganda?  Great.  Just great.

Please do not mistake me.  I am fully aware that I carry too much weight.  This is partly because of appallingly bad choices I have made in the past, and partly due to genetics,and even partly due to a desire to squash feelings down by using poor food choices (and no, that really doesn’t work and is not a very positive way of doing things.)  But I am done with feeling guilty about this.  I know what needs to be changed, and I am doing something about it.

Recently, I rejoined a slimming class.  In two weeks I have dropped 8 pounds, and altogether, I have lost 12 since I started on my health kick, way back in May.  I feel a lot better for it, and I know what to do in order to eat healthy meals, feel full and happy and have the energy to do what I need to do.  And that is what I am going to do.

So, if you feel like you want to be healthier, or carry less weight, then the best thing to do?  Go and see a Nutritionist.  Take their advice and do what you know is healthy in order to get to your healthy weight.  And do not let some stupid position on an outdated and scientifically dubious index tell you whether you are healthy and happy.  Let your own body do the talking.


Why oh why is this still an issue?

Before I start my post, which will become something of a rant (what?  I know my faults!) I want to wish my Mum a very happy birthday.


It is the first birthday she is celebrating while living so close to us, and so I am going to try and make it a great day for her.  We are off to Chatsworth in Derbyshire, and we are stopping at a fabric shop in Chesterfield on the way home.  Then this evening, I am making dinner, and a birthday cake for her.  It is going to be a lovely day!  (And it appears the weather is even behaving itself!)

Yesterday, I had some exciting news.  Hubby and I had expressed interest in two sets of siblings via our social worker and the social worker of one of the sets of siblings came back and thought, judging from our profile on one of these database whatsits, that we would be a potential match for them.  Cue excited squeaking noises.  I will confess to doing little jigs and a couple of excited jumps as well.


So I called our social worker and made sure that she was ready to send our report to the children’s social worker.  It turns out that the Adoption Panel wanted to have some more information than they got from our panel interview.  Okay, I said.  What can I do to help?  What followed was a 30 minute interview on the telephone, including the last item which was about my weight.


Oh yes indeedy, that old chestnut again.  Sigh.  I hate this.  I loathe the fact that I am continually judged by the people in “authority” by the way I look and by a number on the scales.  Yes, I am bigger than “average” or “normal” whatever the hell that means.  But I am also healthier than anyone I know.  I certainly have more energy than anyone I know and I am capable of working as fast as anyone requires me to do.  Just ask the people who have stepped into my former jobs when I have moved onto pastures new.  The muttered phrase of “How the hell did she get THROUGH it all” has been mentioned on numerous occasions.  And if you take a look at my to do lists, and what I can get through each day, one of my closest friends has said that my energy levels make her feel like she is part sloth.

So once again, I need to get focussed on what I put in my body.  Since coming back from our holiday I would say we had relaxed our focus somewhat, but we are a long way from being slovenly diet wise, and not all of our bad habits had crept back.  Some of them had, certainly.  But not all of them.

I will also admit to getting more than a little defensive with our social worker as well yesterday.  I have been approved as an adoptive parent.  The adoption panel medical adviser had cleared me as being fine.  My own cow of a GP admitted (through gritted teeth) that there is nothing that can stop me from being a fine and proper parent.  I do hope they are all listening as I say the next bit through a loud hailer, right by their collective ears.

loud hailer