I am who I am

You may not know it by the look of me, but I am fat.

Now let's be realistic, no one would mistake me for a young Swedish boy, but 740km into my NSPCC challenge I've lost weight and am relatively fit. And still, I am . . . fat. Always was. It's not the famously heavy Tikochinsky bones - no Tikochinsky has ever broken a bone in their lives [my little niece Y did, but she has her mother's genes, so it doesn't count]. Not even my disproportionally large head - a physiotherapist once attributed my neck pain to me having a heavy skull [and yes, I was offended].

You see, I started life fat and grew up fat. When other kids would climb up trees I'd struggle sitting cross legged in their shadow. When we were playing It, I was homie. By the time I started shedding some weight, and let's be realistic, no one ever mistook me for Twiggy, my self-image has already fully formed. I am fat.

Nonetheless, in the last couple of years things were on the up. Yes, I am getting older, but so does everyone else. At my ripe old age any hint of youth is a gift. Hair - at best, it's turned grey, at worse, it's gone. Skin - at best it's wrinkled, at worse it's covered with liver spots. And, yes, the wretched abdomen - at best, its saggy, at worse it protrudes to the point when one struggles to tie their own shoe laces. So, as I still have most of my hair, merely wrinkled skin and a healthily saggy stomach, I was under the impression I was doing OK. In fact I my self-image was starting to change. I was started seeing myself slightly differently. No longer the fat kid.

Big mistake. If I were a proper blogger I'd go for capitals and exclamation marks at this point. OK, here you go: BIG mistake!!!!!!

Delusion. That's what it was. Verging-on-the-certified delusion. Hubris of Sophoclean scale.

Was running up Highgate Hill today feeling rather good about myself. Not too bad I thought. I was going at what I thought was a rather reasonable pace. More than reasonable, respectable.

And then, out of nowhere, he arrived. A short, stout, flabby man. More or less my age. No disrespect, but he looked like he just had a couple of pints and 3 packs of salt & vinegar crisps. I could vaguely see the crumbs on his shirt. I could definitely smell the beer. And still, he was moving at pace. Lightening pace! He didn't overtake me. He buzzed past me. I could literally feel it. With every step he was sapping a bit more of my self esteem. Within seconds he was gone. Not more than a spot disappearing on the horizon. And with him my newly formed self image.

So. I am who I am. The same fat kid.

PS 740km down. 260km to go.