I am once again on the horns of a dilemma after reading a study which appeared just a few days ago…
Before you start thinking that I am contemplating marriage or suicide or something, let me assure you that it is not uppermost in my mind at the moment.
What has got me confused is this new research about breakfast and how a new study is claiming that “breakfast is actually not good for your health”.
The scientists who undertook the study have gone on length to explain their claim and it has certainly given whatever little grey cells I possess a good shake-up.
But why is that affecting me, you may ask. Well, there is a reason which I will describe as briefly as possible.
This goes back to the days when the body and mind were young.
Be assured that this won’t be one of those long winding tales which will describe my childhood in detail, omitting nothing. Being a journalist and not a preacher, I will keep it as brief as possible.
The point is that I enjoyed a waist size of 30 from my teenage days to the middle 30s simply using my own magic – no breakfasts.
It worked wonderfully well. There was a lunch yes and a dinner but that was it. No food passed the lips except few cups of tea or a coffee or two.
The middle section also remained firmly in control, no bulges at all. I was in the pink of health, with all the blood vessels doing the disco in my system.
Then one day, that curse of mankind struck me without warning. A family tree with diabetes in every branch enveloped me too.
Eating habits had to change. The doctor advised me or rather ordered me to have breakfast daily. Skipping would spell danger, even death.
It wasn’t easy mind you. Years of feeling empty and good in the morning was replaced with a certain heaviness and dullness which pervaded the whole system.
Sadly, a once svelte body which was the envy of all, particularly the opposite sex, slowly started changing character. The first indication was the tightness when one wore trousers.
There were tears in my eyes as one by one, those carefully picked Levis and Wranglers were consigned to charity.
I remember how lovingly I went to those shops, blood racing through the veins, tongue hanging out as I bought a blue or black pair of jeans.
The impatience of wearing it and showing off gave me have a sleepless night. Life is too cruel as somebody said somewhere.
As time went by, the waist size went from 30 to 32 to eventually 34. More dishearteningly, a small, unnoticeable bump in the stomach area had become into a fully-blown balloon of fat.
Yes, the fat began to hang out at the waist, huge and hard. Calling me an obese man wouldn’t have gone amiss.
Now, I had to resolve this dilemma – To Eat or Not to Eat. The big day has come.
On the one hand, there is the temptation of a lean, mean body without breakfast and on the other a big belly with bacon, eggs, cheese and sausage.