It All Started With A Hairy Toe

Yes, you read that right, this blog post has been brought to you courtesy of my hairy toe. I’ve singled out the big toe on my left foot, as that is the one that caught my eye as I stepped into the bath for a shower. It was obviously the biggest and the hairiest as the tendrils couldn’t escape even my myopic vision.

That image is now firmly in your minds eye, isn’t it. You’re welcome!

So yes, that moment made me pause

And I then took stock of the rest of me. I know I can be slack at shaving, especially at the moment, but I’d seriously let things get out of control. This was unavoidably evident to me as I scanned the undergrowth covering my legs and then up. Up. UP. I won’t describe my bikini line, hairy bum or armpits for you, apart from to say, luxuriant.

I know there are a lot of women right now exclaiming how fabulous it is to be hairy. I wish I felt the same but the simple truth is, I like some parts of me to be smooth and others, neatly trimmed. I do not feel great when I’m at the point of turning into a chimpanzee.

And don’t even get me started about the chin hairs I have to tweezer when they seem to spring out of nowhere at a ready formed 5mm long AT LEAST.

So I stopped and reached into the bathroom cabinet for a razor, realising I didn’t even have one, I nicked my son’s instead.

Unfortunately, I also clapped eyes on the bathroom scales I’d bought a couple of months ago and never used.

I took the plunge and pulled them out, then remembered I could pair them to my phone. If I was going to step on the damn thing, I wanted to know the full glory of my lockdown self-sabotage. I exited to grab my phone, download the free app and set that up and then returned to the bathroom armed and ready with my phone’s Bluetooth on.

I stepped on the cool glass plate

The numbers blinked – are the scales in shock, I wondered –  and then settled. Attempts at sucking in my tummy had done nothing to alter the result but I at least hope the monumentous effort it took to do that may have burned a calorie.

Thankfully, I’d chosen to track things in kg as I normally work in stones and lbs and haven’t a clue what the kg reading means, so I didn’t burst into tears immediately.

The app helpfully told me I’m obese – no surprise there – and lots of other interesting things like my

  • BMI
  • Body fat %
  • Fat-free body weight kg
  • Subcutaneous fat %
  • Visceral fat
  • Body water %
  • Skeletal muscle %
  • Muscle mass kg
  • Bone mass
  • Protein %
  • BMR
  • Metabolic age

Apparently I have the metabolic body of a 55 year old right now, which isn’t great as I’m 49. I think that was the figure that slapped me round the face hardest actually and prompted me to put fingers to keyboard now.

Suffice to say I got in the shower, removed the patchy pelt from assorted body parts, and made the decision to love myself more.

What does that mean? Essentially, to do more of what makes me feel really good – not just what feels good for a moment. So goodbye Waitrose Salted Caramel Ice Creams on a daily basis, you will be rationed instead, and hello to something new.

I’m not quite sure what that looks like yet but I have created a spreadsheet of weight goals, so now I need to figure out what to do to get me there. And do it…

Oh and keep an eye on my hairy toe. I don’t want it going feral again.

 

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