How Old Did I Just Turn?

Dear Body,

I don't know about you, but there is something distinctly unsettling about turning 49. It feels like the last year in which you can reasonably squeeze yourself into any category containing the words young, youthful or even youngish.

And boy, does it make you take stock of your life.

I honestly thought that by now I would be retired and travelling the world, doing some fabulous Eat, Pray, Love kind of thing. But when I was 25, completing my orientation at a hot international bank and generally living my best life, I failed to consider one small detail: teenagers still need school fees, college is not exactly cheap—and, apparently, retirement requires actual financial planning.

So, here I am—still in the grind and still hustling.

But this is not a book about life lessons. This is the story of my attempt to get fit and, hopefully, lose some weight along the way.

So, where are we in Week Two? Still eating like a pig?

Hell, yeah!

It is my last week in Nairobi, and every gathering with friends and family seems to take place either in a home where people have cooked as though food is about to be discontinued, or at a restaurant.

My mother also taught me never to refuse food when it is offered. I may have taken that lesson a little too literally, but that is a story for another week.

For now, I am happily munching away.

Nyama choma—check. Salted caramel cake at Artcaffé—check. Wine and cheese—check, check and check.

Then came the reality check.

My life insurance renewal was due, which meant I had to undergo a full medical examination. And what is the first thing they check at triage?

Yes—you guessed it.

My weight.

How do you think I was doing?

Honestly, I was not prepared for what the scale revealed. During the two months I had been home, I had somehow managed to gift myself four additional kilos.

Four kilos, people!

Oh, stop it—I just heard you say, "At your big age, surely."

That is two kilos for every month I had been home. Who does that? Do you know how difficult it is to lose just one kilo?

I wasn't surprised that I had gained weight. I had expected perhaps one or two kilos—but four felt unnecessarily ambitious.

The nurse was kind enough to remain expressionless, but we both knew the number staring back at us was not exactly an A-star result. At my very generous height of five feet seven inches, my BMI was hovering somewhere around the obesity line.

Now, if you know me, you know I have never exactly been Miss Skinny. But I have certainly been healthier. And the more I read about the effects of carrying extra weight as we grow older, the clearer it becomes that something needs to be done.

So here I am, confessing:

I'm just a girl, standing in front of a mirror, asking her body to become Fit-ish by Fifty.

Can you feel me?

I always did love that Julia Roberts line in Notting Hill.

Yours—four kilos wiser,

Me