I remember, when I was a kid, my parents were concerned because I was so shrimpy. I might have even been a candidate for hGH. In Grade 6 French, we had to measure our height; I topped in at a whopping 1.24m (4'1"). Even during my rapid but short (in all senses of the word) growth spurt during high school, I felt dwarfed by my peers. In one of my Clinical Laboratory Science classes in college, we talked about BMI; mine was at 18.5 ("normal" is 20-25). For all but a few years in my life, I've been ineligible to donate blood because of being underweight--but for those years, I faithfully gave blood. When it comes to measurements of physical stature, I've always been below average. But this week, I was told that I was average. I went to the Fitness Assessment Center to get a body composition test done: 13% (+/- 3%) body fat. Her advice? "Just keep on doing what you're doing." I wonder if she would have said the same thing if she had known that I've gained 7 pounds (mostly fat) in the last month alone--and whether I should really follow her advice.