 without charging me; and pushed me through resistance training (sometimes just stretching, or 'Pathetic Training' as we knew it) while anxiously keeping an eye on my heart rate to avoid red-lining it. When I had improved sufficiently, she suggested I get a DEXA scan to ascertain my exact fat vs muscle ratio, so I didn't grow complacent. Dual energy X-ray absorptiometry gives precise data on your bone density, lean mass (muscle) and fat content; it doesn't just tell you how fat you are, but where fat you are. It's much more accurate than BMI, which several studies have shown can diverge by as much as 35 per cent from actual body make-up, and correlates strongly with the gold-standard measure of body composition, CT or computerised tomography. Just the prospect of a){kind=link}
For the midlife male, it’s not how fat you are but where the fat is that counts
Some went high in lockdown, achieving Olympian levels of fitness; I went low, contracting a pesky case of what’s called sinus tachycardia that consultants ascribe to long Covid. At first even gentle walking sent my heart rate soaring; it would then remain at 125bpm resting for the next two days. Sinus tachycardia: makes you feel grotty.
A previously fit gentleman who played tennis four times a week, I found I couldn’t do any cardio beyond walking up the stairs. So instead I focused my energies during lockdown on preparing vast, comforting feasts, and was prescribed red wine ad libitum to cheer me up, by me. Jeez, two years on I got huge as my muscles dissolved.
When I finally met up with my regular tennis four again, I feared the Averted Male Gaze – devastating – but met only sympathy. Then I lasted 10 minutes on court. “Right, this is ridiculous,” said my doubles partner, Andy. “You’re going to my wife’s personal trainer. She has transformed my wife’s body in two years.”
Not all heroes wear Lycra, but Sarah Gad, who runs boutique gym Core Connection in Wandsworth, south London, took me on as her first client who could manage only half-hour sessions; accepted short notice cancellations (“Feeling grotty”) without charging me; and pushed me through resistance training (sometimes just stretching, or “Pathetic Training” as we knew it) while anxiously keeping an eye on my heart rate to avoid red-lining it. When I had improved sufficiently, she suggested I get a DEXA scan to ascertain my exact fat vs muscle ratio, so I didn’t grow complacent.