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I went to the lower level, dusted off the weighing machine I had avoided for a long time and looked at the readout: 99.2kg. Throughout the previous eight years, I had lost nearly 10kg. I had evolved from being a referee who was heavy and untrained to being slender and fit. It had demanded dedication, filled with patience, difficult choices and focus. But it was also the commencement of a shift that progressively brought stress, strain and disquiet around the tests that the authorities had enforced.

You didn't just need to be a good referee, it was also about prioritising diet, presenting as a top-level umpire, that the body mass and adipose levels were appropriate, otherwise you were in danger of being disciplined, receiving less assignments and finding yourself in the cold.

When the officiating body was restructured during the mid-2010 period, the leading figure brought in a series of reforms. During the opening phase, there was an strong concentration on physique, measurements of weight and adipose tissue, and required optical assessments. Vision tests might appear as a given practice, but it hadn't been before. At the sessions they not only evaluated basic things like being able to see fine print at a particular length, but also more specific tests adapted for top-level match arbiters.

Some umpires were found to be color deficient. Another proved to be partially sighted and was obliged to retire. At least that's what the rumours said, but nobody was certain – because concerning the outcomes of the optical assessment, details were withheld in extended assemblies. For me, the vision test was a confidence boost. It indicated competence, meticulousness and a desire to get better.

When it came to tests of weight and fat percentage, however, I largely sensed disgust, irritation and degradation. It wasn't the assessments that were the problem, but the manner of execution.

The opening instance I was compelled to undergo the degrading process was in the autumn of 2010 at our regular session. We were in Ljubljana, Slovenia. On the initial session, the umpires were split into three teams of about 15. When my group had entered the large, cold assembly area where we were to gather, the leadership instructed us to remove our clothes to our underwear. We exchanged glances, but nobody responded or dared to say anything.

We gradually removed our attire. The evening before, we had obtained explicit directions not to consume food or beverages in the morning but to be as devoid as we could when we were to take the assessment. It was about registering the lowest mass as possible, and having as reduced adipose level as possible. And to resemble a referee should according to the model.

There we were positioned in a long row, in just our underclothes. We were the elite arbiters of European football, top sportsmen, role models, mature individuals, parents, confident individuals with high principles … but no one said anything. We barely looked at each other, our eyes darted a bit apprehensively while we were summoned as duos. There the chief scrutinized us from top to bottom with an chilling gaze. Quiet and observant. We stepped onto the scale one by one. I contracted my stomach, stood erect and ceased breathing as if it would change the outcome. One of the instructors clearly stated: "Eriksson from Sweden, 96.2kg." I felt how the chief paused, looked at me and inspected my almost bare body. I mused that this is not worthy. I'm an mature individual and compelled to stand here and be evaluated and assessed.

I descended from the scale and it appeared as if I was standing in a fog. The same instructor advanced with a sort of clamp, a device similar to a truth machine that he commenced pressing me with on assorted regions of the body. The pinching instrument, as the instrument was called, was cool and I jumped a little every time it pressed against me.

The coach compressed, drew, forced, gauged, rechecked, spoke unclearly, pressed again and pinched my epidermis and fatty deposits. After each assessment point, he declared the measurement in mm he could assess.

I had no understanding what the numbers signified, if it was positive or negative. It took maybe just over a minute. An assistant recorded the values into a file, and when all four values had been calculated, the record quickly calculated my total fat percentage. My result was proclaimed, for all to hear: "Eriksson, 18.7%."

Why did I not, or somebody else, voice an opinion?

Why couldn't we stand up and express what each person felt: that it was degrading. If I had raised my voice I would have at the same time signed my end of my officiating path. If I had doubted or challenged the techniques that the chief had implemented then I wouldn't have got any matches, I'm convinced of that.

Of course, I also desired to become in better shape, be lighter and achieve my objective, to become a top-tier official. It was obvious you must not be overweight, similarly apparent you ought to be conditioned – and sure, maybe the whole officiating group required a professional upgrade. But it was improper to try to get there through a embarrassing mass assessment and an agenda where the most important thing was to lose weight and lower your adipose level.

Our biannual sessions after that adhered to the same routine. Mass measurement, body fat assessment, running tests, rule tests, reviews of interpretations, team activities and then at the end a summary was provided. On a document, we all got data about our physical profile – pointers indicating if we were going in the correct path (down) or improper course (up).

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