Tuesday April 15, 2008
I got the official, fanfare of trumpets, ‘clinically obese’ message from the doctor yesterday morning, along with appropriate lectures. He took extensive bloods, and has booked me in for a full chest x-ray, both of them ‘just in case something internal is causing your problems’.
Which is all very well, and I’m grateful. However, I have to acknowledge that from here on out it’s largely up to me. I need to embark on an extended, no-excuses, programme of fitness and weight control. I need to do some extensive research, and then I’ll set a start date, just like you do for giving up smoking.
I successfully gave up smoking. Let’s see if I can do the same for obesity.
Whatever the programme, I’ll give it a year. If I’ve not beat the thing by the end of a year of diet and exercise control I shall abandon the whole affair and settle back for a nice, comfortable and chubby retirement, large glass of wine and dish of nibbles at my elbow. And learn how to let in those cute triangles at the back-seam of my trousers that defiant old guys used to flaunt in days gone by.
There’s no way I’m going to subject myself to an endless sequence of ever-more potent drugs and treatments. I’d rather be fat.