Great news!

OK, are you ready for this? My life is complete. I am officially overweight and not obese. Don't all clap at once. Yes, my BMI has been gently dipping downwards and it hit the magical 30. Well, if you stand on the scales first thing and shave your hair off for full lightness effect. (And maybe keep one foot on the floor. You mean you're not supposed to do that?) Woohoo, I am now only at HIGH and not VERY HIGH risk of heart disease, thank you New Zealand heart foundation. You've made my week. Not. Cream cake to celebrate, anyone?

I feel a bit disheartened because actually that reminds me quite how far I have to go. I have this regular fantasy, I walk into the gym looking like Blimp Woman. I climb on the treadmill/cycle/ellipical/rowing-torture machine, and I start running/biking/torturing myself. A while later, I go back into the changing rooms, and there I am, Slimline Underwear Model Woman, just as I looked when twenty-one, only with stretchmarks and a massive C-section scar. (Well look, fantasies have to have a little bit of reality in them, otherwise you wouldn't let yourself believe them, right? I mean, it would be like fantasising that then Tom Cruise comes into the gym and sees me. I would never think that, would I? Oh, all right, I would, I am the kind of sad woman who still fancies Tom Cruise even though I know he is smaller than me AND a Scientologist).

The point is, I am not quite sure why I feel depressed that I am ONLY overweight now (unless I weigh myself in the evenings, of course). Because looked at logically, I am doing quite well. If I was a friend of mine, I'd be slapping me on the back, saying "Jolly good! So proud of you! Keep going!" (And trying not to say "but I bet you put it all back on again in a year!")
But cos it's me, I feel sort of unworthy and useless. It's true, we are our own worst enemies.

That's one of the reasons going to the gym is actually pretty good, here in Glenfield. Because it's the antithesis of a sporty young person's gym, with beautiful bodies on display and a competitive atmosphere.. Today, as I wobbled my way through a mere 45-minute workout (give me a break! I had sushi to make! C'mon, priorities!) I noticed two elderly Indian women chatting together. In England we would say Asian, but here it is Indian because Asian means Far East, Japan, China or Korea, so apologies, I KNOW I don't know if they were actually Pakistani Bangladeshi Indian or Sri Lankan, but the point is they were exercising), taking great care not to get their headscarves tangled up as they chatted, I mean leisurely strolled, on the treadmill together. In front of them was an elderly white guy who I wished was wearing a few more layers, his legs and arms were so pale and scrawny they looked like chickens. Then there was a very large lady on an exercise bike. And the gym staff wandering around looking as if they couldn't quite understand why we were all there, we looked so amateurish. But we were all there, and we were all doing our best, and having some fun too I suspect. It was nice. Nearing forty as I am, I am supposed to hanker after regaining my youthful body. But fantasies about Tom Cruise aside, I rather appreciate the fact that I am nearing middle age. It seems a gentler, wiser pace of life, when you go to the gym to take care of your health rather than to pull a good-looking guy (not that I would say no to Tom Cruise, obv). And celebrating the fact that you are not actually officially obese first thing in the morning, that's a very healthy middle-aged thing to do. I like my elderly gym buddies. I am also starting to think that the Indian ladies were onto something. They had covered up so sensibly that you really couldn't work out if they were obese, overweight or not. They were just who they were, themselves, which is nice.
Note to self: Must NOT convert to traditional-style Hinduism or Islam or Orthodox Judaism JUST BECAUSE I might get the chance to wear flowing non-revealing clothes...