I’ve always had a thing about my weight. I know, I know. Tell
me a guy who hasn’t? But it’s something that’s always weighed (if not heavily, then obstructively) on my mind. Well, at least since the age of seven.
Seemingly overnight, I went from a skinny kid boasting barely a spare
ounce of flesh to a bit of a Chubby
Checker. I mean, I was never a passenger on the Fast Train to Obesity or in danger of losing the view to my feet. But I was a little tubby, and could
pinch (fractionally) more than an inch.
I think it was largely a genetic thing. My dad was the same.
We shared identical builds as kids. It’s almost freaky how DNA quirks can
repeat themselves. So, through most of junior school – and all of high school –
I was battling the bulge (at least in my own mind). It didn’t stop me playing
football (/soccer) well enough to bag various spots on school teams. Though this may have
been more a reflection of the standard of our teams than my prowess on the park.
I was also teased for carrying the extra poundage at junior school;
branded one of The Flumps for a while;
due to being small, round, chubby-faced and sporting a classic bowl hair-cut. The Flumps was a BBC children’s
programme from the late ’70s and ’80s which featured the adventures of a family
of small, round furry characters who mostly wore bowl-shaped hats. I guess I was Perkin, the little
boy Flump. Thankfully I wasn’t too
furry.
In high school, one of our P.E. teachers, Dave Pointon – a
former Gloucester Rugby Club star – said I was a pretty talented footballer (/soccer
player), but my weight was holding me back – as well as leaving unnecessary
dents in the pitch (OK, he didn’t actually say that last bit; but I knew he was thinking it).
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