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I ventured to the lower level, wiped the weighing machine I had avoided for many years and glanced at the readout: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had dropped nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a official who was heavy and unfit to being lean and conditioned. It had required effort, full of patience, hard calls and commitments. But it was also the beginning of a change that slowly introduced pressure, pressure and disquiet around the assessments that the authorities had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a good umpire, it was also about focusing on nutrition, appearing as a top-level official, that the weight and body fat were right, otherwise you risked being disciplined, being allocated fewer games and ending up in the wilderness.

When the regulatory group was restructured during the summer of 2010, the head official enacted a number of changes. During the initial period, there was an extreme focus on physical condition, measurements of weight and fat percentage, and compulsory eyesight exams. Optical checks might seem like a expected practice, but it hadn't been before. At the courses they not only evaluated elementary factors like being able to read small text at a specific range, but also specialized examinations tailored to top-level match arbiters.

Some referees were identified as color deficient. Another turned out to be partially sighted and was obliged to retire. At least that's what the gossip said, but no one knew for sure – because regarding the findings of the optical assessment, no information was shared in larger groups. For me, the optical check was a reassurance. It demonstrated competence, thoroughness and a desire to get better.

Concerning weighing assessments and body fat, however, I primarily experienced revulsion, anger and embarrassment. It wasn't the assessments that were the issue, but the manner of execution.

The initial occasion I was compelled to undergo the embarrassing ritual was in the autumn of 2010 at our annual course. We were in a European city. On the opening day, the referees were divided into three units of about 15. When my group had walked into the large, cold assembly area where we were to gather, the management instructed us to remove our clothes to our underclothes. We glanced around, but no one reacted or dared to say anything.

We carefully shed our clothes. The prior evening, we had received explicit directions not to have any nourishment in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to participate in the examination. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as minimal body fat as possible. And to appear as a official should according to the paradigm.

There we remained in a long row, in just our underclothes. We were Europe's best referees, elite athletes, inspirations, mature individuals, family providers, strong personalities with high principles … but nobody spoke. We barely looked at each other, our looks shifted a bit nervously while we were called forward in pairs. There the chief examined us from top to bottom with an frigid look. Mute and attentive. We stepped on the balance one by one. I contracted my stomach, adjusted my posture and stopped inhaling as if it would have an effect. One of the instructors audibly declared: "Eriksson, Sweden, 96.2 kilos." I felt how the chief paused, looked at me and inspected my nearly naked body. I reflected that this is not worthy. I'm an mature individual and obliged to stand here and be examined and assessed.

I alighted from the weighing machine and it felt like I was in a daze. The equivalent coach came forward with a type of caliper, a polygraph-like tool that he began to pinch me with on assorted regions of the body. The pinching instrument, as the tool was called, was chilly and I started a little every time it pressed against me.

The trainer compressed, drew, applied pressure, gauged, measured again, spoke unclearly, squeezed once more and pinched my skin and adipose tissue. After each assessment point, he announced the number of millimetres he could assess.

I had no idea what the figures signified, if it was positive or negative. It took maybe just over a minute. An assistant inputted the figures into a file, and when all readings had been calculated, the document swiftly determined my complete adipose level. My result was declared, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

What prevented me from, or any other person, voice an opinion?

What stopped us from get to our feet and state what everyone thought: that it was demeaning. If I had voiced my concerns I would have at the same time sealed my professional demise. If I had questioned or opposed the procedures that the chief had implemented then I wouldn't have got any matches, I'm sure about that.

Of course, I also aimed to become in better shape, weigh less and achieve my objective, to become a elite arbiter. It was evident you ought not to be overweight, just as clear you should be in shape – and admittedly, maybe the whole officiating group required a professional upgrade. But it was incorrect to try to achieve that through a degrading weight check and an strategy where the primary focus was to shed pounds and reduce your body fat.

Our twice-yearly trainings after that adhered to the same routine. Weight check, measurement of fat percentage, endurance assessments, regulation quizzes, evaluation of rulings, group work and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a document, we all got data about our physical profile – arrows pointing if we were going in the right direction (down) or wrong direction (up).

Fat percentages were classified into five groups. An approved result was if you {belong