I’m not stupid, but sometimes I can be really thick.
I just don’t cop on to some things that, in retrospect, are blindingly obvious. Like the term “middle aged spread”.
I’ve heard the term all my life. I understand it means that most people over 40 get a bit wider round the middle.
So why then have I spent the past number of months looking for an explanation for my expanding midriff? I’ve googled it, I’ve dieted, I checked out every explanation.
The answer hit me when I went back to the gym this week for the first time in a year. I re-joined one that’s favoured by students.
Suddenly, in a room filled with twenty somethings, I had a revelation.
I’m middle aged. And my middle is exhibiting middle aged spread.
I hopped on the exercise bike, imagining I looked like Christine Bleakley in her new workout video, then caught myself in the mirror and realised I was closer to Stephen Nolan. Okay, not quite, but still
Oh no I haven’t got some exotic, weight-retaining condition. I’m just getting older.
For every pound I lose, there is a team of wee gremlins inside me, shovelling on two more. It’s depressing.
And y’know what happens when y’get depressed... y’just wanna eat.