downers: your BMI
I hate weighing myself and do it as little as humanly possible. But my doctor is always trying to weigh me, so I know I’ve been anywhere between X and Y pounds (a 20 pound range, leaving out pregnancy) since I reached my full height of 5’8″ and 1/2. The Y was when I was in college, eating Panda House three times a week. The X was about five months ago after six days of a cleanse and a particularly virulent bout of the flu. I have little hope of attaining that number again, but it’s nice that I can cling to it in rough times. It’s like how I cling to the fact that I got a perfect score on my verbal SATs whenever some troglodyte corrects me on my grammar or some ignoramus assumes I can’t speak English. By the way, it’s amazing how much English you can learn from a steady diet of romance novels. And yes, it HAS been really hard waiting until my 71st post to mention my SAT score from 17 years ago, thank you for asking.
In any event, you’re not supposed to care how much you weigh. Instead, you’re supposed to care about your body mass index (“BMI“). But I’m not sure the BMI thing works as it should. Tom, not liking the results of his own BMI calculation, immediately dismissed the concept of the BMI as junk science. And in his case, I’m inclined to agree. We worked in reverse and calculated what he would need to weigh at his height (6’4”) to enter the lower end of the normal range, and it was like, 147 pounds. I don’t want him to be unhealthy, but I also have myself to think about, and given that he is 8 inches taller, I require that there be more of a difference between our weights than the equivalent of a fat house cat.
Anyway, no matter how you slice it, the Body Mass Index is a downer. So BMI: thanks for playing, but I reject you.