He Aint Heavy, He's My Reflection

I went for a check up before Christmas – full top to toe medical – and while it wasn’t up there with Syd James in Carry On Doctor, it really was a laugh. Watching the confusion on the nurse’s face as she tested my eyes (I hadn’t told her I’d just had them lasered) had me inwardly giggling, and I enjoyed her best impression of an undertaker’s voice as she solemnly told me she had bad news for me. I am colour blind.

Having known this since I was about five years old, and having had it confirmed for many years in my choice of co ordinating knitwear that doesn’t, I kept a straight face and asked how it would impact on my life. She frowned and did that nodding, reassuring thing health professionals do when they tell you the last few months of your life won’t be as bad as expected because they’ll be there to hold your hand.

She summoned up courage and told me, seriously, that I could never be a pilot.

Bang goes that job at Easyjet then. What a bummer. According to the Colorblinder web site I also can’t become an astronaut, a graphic designer, firefighter, train driver, flower arranger or interior designer. I suspect, however, that I’m fully qualified to design the Everton “away” shirt.

One thing I wish I hadn’t found out from the medical though was just how much weight I need to lose. You may well have thought you saw me last week on ITV, but that was a documentary called Britain’s Fattest Man. According to the doctor, I’m not far off. I was prepared to be told to shed five or six pounds but he told me I need to get rid of TWENTY FIVE pounds of hard earned lard as soon as I can.

So, I joined a new class at the gym on Monday and met a very kind Polish instructor who taught us how to strengthen our tummies. As we were doing her exercises, she came up and whispered “pull in your tummy when you’re doing it”. Readers, I WAS pulling in my tummy. I made an extra special effort and sucked it in till it felt that it was sticking through my spine, but she said simply “right, start pulling it in now.” It’s official. I’m obese.

I’ve discovered a web site called My Fitness Pal which allows you to key in how much weight you want to lose, plus your daily food intake, and then tells you when you’ll reach your goal. In my case October 2037. I also key in what exercise I’ve done, and the site tells me how many calories I’ve “bought back”, with my sit ups and running, so I can have a treat. It’s a bit like being at school and I’m determined to be teacher’s pet.

Overall, apart from my weight, the medical went well, especially for the doctor who spent a long time examining places even my wife doesn’t want to know about. By the way, what is the form for conversation while a doctor fondles your dangly bits? I wanted to burst into He’s Got the Whole World In His Hands, but I worried that he was inwardly singing that Jennifer Paige hit “Crush”.

All was good with my cholesterol level which was lower than my voice after the doctor had finished fondling, my heart and lungs are healthier than expected, and my hearing is just perfect for ignoring my wife when she’s nagging or telling me to empty the dishwasher.

The diet is going well and I’ve lost seven pounds in a week of watching what I eat and doing lots of gym work. By the end of the year I should have drastically reduced my waist line to merely “fat” but for the moment I take consolation where I can. I even think I spotted some old pals I haven’t seen for ages today. My knees.