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I went to the basement, wiped the scales I had shunned for several years and glanced at the readout: 99.2kg. Over the past eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had gone from being a referee who was overweight and out of shape to being lean and fit. It had taken time, full of patience, hard calls and commitments. But it was also the start of a transformation that progressively brought stress, tension and disquiet around the tests that the authorities had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a good official, it was also about focusing on nutrition, appearing as a premier official, that the weight and adipose levels were right, otherwise you faced being penalized, receiving less assignments and ending up in the sidelines.

When the regulatory group was restructured during the summer of 2010, the leading figure brought in a set of modifications. During the initial period, there was an strong concentration on body shape, measurements of weight and body fat, and required optical assessments. Optical checks might sound like a expected practice, but it had not been before. At the training programs they not only examined elementary factors like being able to read small text at a certain distance, but also specialized examinations adapted for elite soccer officials.

Some umpires were found to be colour blind. Another proved to be lacking vision in one eye and was compelled to resign. At least that's what the whispers claimed, but no one knew for sure – because about the outcomes of the optical assessment, nothing was revealed in extended assemblies. For me, the eyesight exam was a confidence boost. It indicated professionalism, attention to detail and a desire to improve.

When it came to body mass examinations and body fat, however, I largely sensed revulsion, frustration and degradation. It wasn't the tests that were the difficulty, but the way they were conducted.

The initial occasion I was obliged to experience the degrading process was in the late 2010 period at our yearly training. We were in the Slovenian capital. On the first morning, the umpires were divided into three groups of about 15. When my unit had entered the big, chilly conference room where we were to meet, the leadership instructed us to strip down to our intimate apparel. We glanced around, but no one reacted or dared to say anything.

We carefully shed our attire. The prior evening, we had been given explicit directions not to eat or drink in the morning but to be as depleted as we could when we were to undergo the test. It was about showing minimal weight as possible, and having as low a fat percentage as possible. And to appear as a referee should according to the paradigm.

There we remained in a extended line, in just our underwear. We were Europe's best referees, elite athletes, inspirations, mature individuals, family providers, assertive characters with high principles … but nobody spoke. We scarcely glanced at each other, our eyes darted a bit apprehensively while we were called forward two by two. There the chief examined us from head to toe with an frigid look. Mute and observant. We stepped onto the scale one by one. I sucked in my abdomen, straightened my back and stopped inhaling as if it would have an effect. One of the trainers loudly announced: "The Swedish official, 96.2 kilograms." I felt how the chief paused, glanced my way and surveyed my partially unclothed body. I mused that this lacks respect. I'm an grown person and forced to be here and be inspected and critiqued.

I stepped off the weighing machine and it seemed like I was standing in a fog. The same instructor advanced with a kind of pliers, a instrument resembling a lie detector that he began to pinch me with on assorted regions of the body. The measuring tool, as the instrument was called, was chilly and I flinched a little every time it pressed against me.

The instructor pressed, drew, forced, measured, reassessed, spoke unclearly, reapplied force and pinched my epidermis and fatty deposits. After each test site, he called out the metric reading he could measure.

I had no idea what the figures represented, if it was good or bad. It lasted approximately a minute. An assistant recorded the values into a record, and when all readings had been determined, the file swiftly determined my overall body fat. My reading was proclaimed, for all to hear: "The official, 18.7 percent."

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

Why couldn't we stand up and express what each person felt: that it was humiliating. If I had spoken out I would have at the same time executed my end of my officiating path. If I had challenged or resisted the procedures that the chief had implemented then I wouldn't have got any matches, I'm convinced of that.

Certainly, I also aimed to become fitter, weigh less and reach my goal, to become a top-tier official. It was obvious you ought not to be overweight, equally obvious you must be in shape – and admittedly, maybe the whole officiating group demanded a standardization. But it was improper to try to reach that level through a degrading weight check and an agenda where the most important thing was to reduce mass and lower your adipose level.

Our two annual courses thereafter followed the same pattern. Weigh-in, adipose evaluation, running tests, rule tests, evaluation of rulings, collaborative exercises and then at the end everything would be summarised. On a document, we all got information about our fitness statistics – pointers pointing if we were going in the right direction (down) or wrong direction (up).

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