My Doctor Called Me Fat

Well, technically speaking he didn't call me fat; it's not like he walked into the exam room and said "so how's it going, Lardass?"  No, it was his office, with their automated "here's what we learned at your latest visit" message to me, that imparted the news.  Turns out that the two tidbits of information that they learned when I popped in to discuss my vertigo were: My blood pressure is good.  My BMI is not.

Now, I know BMI is worthless for athletes.  It's just a height/weight formula that doesn't take muscle mass into account; my old coach TieGuy said that when he gained 50 pounds of muscle during his skating career, his BMI placed him in the obese category while his body fat was actually 5%.  So I know to take BMI with a grain of salt (or, more likely in my case, a half-cup or so of sugar).

Still, pants and the scale don't lie, and I know I can't claim that the 20 pounds I've put on in the last 6 years are all muscle.  And it's not like I haven't noticed the added weight (it's kind of hard not to notice when none of your pants button) or haven't tried to do anything about it.  I have.

I just haven't been successful.

But now it's time to try again.  Especially since I seem to gain weight rather than lose when doing dryland (even when I'm not eating donuts after the workout).  There's something about a max-effort cardio--in my case, skating--that can't be replicated by dryland.  Dryland makes me hungry; skating takes away my appetite (and sometimes threatens to take away my previously-eaten lunch).  Dryland makes my glutes hurt; skating makes my glutes smaller.  Dryland makes me gain weight; skating makes me lose.  Unfortunately, dryland is currently possible; skating is not.  And from the looks of things, skating won't be possible for quite some time (I forgot my camera at today's dryland workout at the oval or I could have included a stunning, if tragic, photo of the oval all covered with chunks of plowed-up snow, disassembled bits of skate park ramps, and huge pools of water.  Sad, really).

So anyway, the diet effort starts again.  I'll spare you the details of my plan, but with any luck the next time I go to see my doctor, his office won't be compelled to send me a message telling me I'm fat.