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I descended to the basement, cleaned the weighing machine I had shunned for a long time and glanced at the readout: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had shed nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a official who was overweight and unfit to being lean and fit. It had required effort, filled with persistence, tough decisions and commitments. But it was also the start of a change that progressively brought anxiety, pressure and unease around the examinations that the top management had introduced.

You didn't just need to be a skilled referee, it was also about emphasizing eating habits, presenting as a premier referee, that the mass and adipose levels were right, otherwise you risked being reprimanded, being allocated fewer games and finding yourself in the sidelines.

When the officiating body was restructured during the 2010 summer season, the leading figure enacted a series of reforms. During the opening phase, there was an strong concentration on physical condition, weigh-ins and adipose tissue, and mandatory vision tests. Optical checks might seem like a standard practice, but it wasn't previously before. At the training programs they not only tested fundamental aspects like being able to see fine print at a specific range, but also more specific tests designed for professional football referees.

Some officials were found to be color deficient. Another was revealed as lacking vision in one eye and was forced to quit. At least that's what the rumours claimed, but no one knew for sure – because regarding the outcomes of the optical assessment, nothing was revealed in extended assemblies. For me, the vision test was a reassurance. It indicated competence, attention to detail and a desire to improve.

When it came to weighing assessments and adipose measurement, however, I primarily experienced disgust, anger and humiliation. It wasn't the assessments that were the problem, but the way they were conducted.

The initial occasion I was obliged to experience the embarrassing ritual was in the autumn of 2010 at our yearly training. We were in a European city. On the first morning, the umpires were separated into three teams of about 15. When my unit had walked into the big, chilly conference room where we were to meet, the management directed us to undress to our underclothes. We looked at each other, but everyone remained silent or dared to say anything.

We gradually removed our garments. The evening before, we had been given specific orders 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 weighing as little as possible, and having as minimal body fat as possible. And to appear as a official should according to the standard.

There we were positioned in a extended line, in just our underwear. We were Europe's best referees, professional competitors, role models, mature individuals, family providers, confident individuals with high principles … but nobody spoke. We barely looked at each other, our looks shifted a bit anxiously while we were summoned as duos. There the chief examined us from top to bottom with an chilling stare. Quiet and attentive. We stepped onto the weighing machine singly. I contracted my stomach, straightened my back and stopped inhaling as if it would change the outcome. One of the coaches clearly stated: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I sensed how the chief paused, glanced my way and surveyed my partially unclothed body. I mused that this is undignified. I'm an adult and obliged to be here and be inspected and judged.

I descended from the balance and it appeared as if I was disoriented. The same instructor came forward with a kind of pliers, a polygraph-like tool that he started to squeeze me with on different parts of the body. The caliper, as the instrument was called, was cool and I started a little every time it made contact.

The trainer compressed, tugged, pressed, gauged, measured again, mumbled something inaudible, reapplied force and pinched my dermis and fatty deposits. After each test site, he called out the number of millimetres he could gauge.

I had no understanding what the figures signified, if it was good or bad. It required about a minute. An helper entered the figures into a file, and when all measurements had been determined, the document swiftly determined my complete adipose level. My value was declared, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

Why didn't I, or somebody else, say anything?

What stopped us from stand up and say what each person felt: that it was humiliating. If I had spoken out I would have concurrently executed my end of my officiating path. If I had challenged or opposed the procedures that the chief had introduced then I would not have received any fixtures, I'm convinced of that.

Naturally, I also desired to become more athletic, be lighter and attain my target, to become a elite arbiter. It was obvious you shouldn't be heavy, similarly apparent you ought to be in shape – and admittedly, maybe the whole officiating group required a standardization. But it was improper to try to get there through a embarrassing mass assessment and an plan where the most important thing was to lose weight and reduce your adipose level.

Our twice-yearly trainings after that followed the same pattern. Mass measurement, adipose evaluation, fitness exams, laws of the game examinations, analysis of decisions, group work and then at the end a summary was provided. On a report, we all got information about our physical profile – arrows indicating if we were going in the right direction (down) or improper course (up).

Body fat levels were grouped into five tiers. An approved result was if you {belong