After a conversation with my Dad about how the scales in Boots measure your height and they'd told me I was just under 5ft11 when I've always thought I was 6ft, he said he would measure me. I'm certain it was quite accurate; a piece of card, a pencil, a wall and a metal tape measure. I was stunned at the result. I'm 5ft10.
5ft10!!!
After a bit of googling I found out that women shrink two inches and men shrink one inch as we go from our thirties, into our forties and fifties. But, I soon realised, the big implication is - more googling required - a lower target weight.
So, I need to lose another ten pounds to get to one pound below the top of the ideal weight range for my height. 130 pounds in total as opposed to 120. The good news is I'm still past halfway. Phew! 67 down, 63 to go.
This new target is a weight I think I've not been since I was about twelve/thirteen years old. See? IMPOSSIBLE.
Sigh.
Am I downhearted? Nah! If that's the weight I have to be to find out what its like not to be fat, then that's where I'm heading. Slowly. Onwards and back-and-forth-in-the-pool-&-on-the-prom-wards and downwards.
I had a health check and was given a BMI value that was higher than expected. I was rather put out because I'd not put on weight. It was then I discovered that the nurse measured my height as an inch less than I used to be. I am not happy about it!
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