Weight for it!

Those who know me will know that I am, in a very mild way, very slightly, just a smidgeon, a tad, a particle, a tiny sliver, overweight.
(Those who don't know me can take my word for it, it's marginal!)

I've dieted, stopped drinking, exercised and even took up cycling, which for some reason meant my sanity departed and I twice (twice - Jesus!) did a London to Paris challenge for charity. The first one nearly killed me, the second one I almost enjoyed, but, and here I would like you to imagine the word 'but' in the biggest, blackest, most italicised letters conceivable, despite cycling between 3000 and 3500 miles per year for over two years, my weight stubbornly refused to go below a certain figure.
I could tell you what that figure is, but then I'd have to kill you, so for your sake I hope I don't accidentally let it slip.

And now, for a variety of reasons, starting with idleness, and continuing with variations on that theme, I have done no exercise for about 10 months. Consequently my weight is taking unfair advantage of my good nature, and creeping back up again.

In the normal course of events, that same idleness would mean I would take the obvious step - stop making the effort to step up onto the scales.

Unfortunately, in a fit of unspeakably dumb bravado, when I last lost a bit of weight, I took the unprecedented step of throwing away all my 'fat' clothes. If I put any more weight on, I will be reduced to skulking around the house in my kecks, unable to leave for fear of neighbourly ridicule and possible arrest for indecent exposure.

So I applied my not inconsiderable (but sadly underused) intellect to the problem, and have found said intellect to be in need of an overhaul, because it calculated the cost of replacing my wardrobe, and then it calculated the cost of the only possible alternative solution......and MADE ME JOIN A G...G....G....G oh God....GYM!!!!

Which is why later today  I shall go skulking into this 21st century version of the Spanish Inquisition's ('no-o-o-o-body expects the Spanish Inquisition') secret dungeon headquarters, and spend an hour or so being weighed, measured, tested, inducted, subducted, reducted, prodded, squeezed, pinched and otherwise made to suffer in the interests of not outgrowing my limited wardrobe.

Apparently, according to the very nice lady I spoke to on Wednesday, it will be good for me and make me feel better, fitter and healthier.

Which I imagine is exactly the kind of line Torquemada used to come out with in the 15th Century!