The envelope was placed in my hand by the special messenger. Well, really it was my wife who delivered it, but she’s pretty special. The blood was taken from me by force a couple of weeks ago (they did tie up my arm before forcing that needle into the vein) and I’ve been waiting with unbated breath all this time. The fact is, I didn’t want to know the results, because I already was confident of the outcome. Sure enough…Sodium level is right down the median range, just as expected.
What’s that? The other numbers? Well, the glucose is right there where it should be. Potassium, too. I’ve got lots of other numbers I could throw at you, all just where they should be. But, to be perfectly honest, there are a couple of numbers which are slightly, er well, significantly higher than they should be. As expected, the esteemed Doc will not be happy. Too many months of good food (well, good tasting anyway) and not enough exercise have taken their toll and I’ve got the numbers to prove it.
So now comes the hard part. Medicine or nature? One little pill a day or hours of muscle-stretching agony every week? Eat whatever I want or…No, I’m guessing that the diet change is going to happen one way or another. As to the pill or exercise question, I’m not good at remembering to take pills and I hate them anyway, so it looks like the exercise regime is in my immediate future. Being pretty sure ahead of time of the results of the test, I started a few days ago by acquiring a Gazelle. You’ve seen them on TV…those weird scissor-action contraptions you stand on, holding your hands on the ski-pole-like appendages. Tony Little looks great on his. The young Barbie-doll ladies he’s hired from the gymnasium down the street look great on theirs. And no, I didn’t pay that exorbitant price for it (although the Tony Little bobble-head doll was hard to pass up). Instead I got one on the cheap from a family member.
Unlike the Master and his Barbie-dolls, I don’t look so great on it. Legs go one way, the arms go the other in a cross-body motion meant to make me feel like I’m getting a great aerobic workout, but I’m pretty sure all I’m doing is looking goofy. Come to think of it, that about sums it up! You’ve seen the Disney cartoon of Goofy getting fit. Sport Goofy is the quintessential nerd, trying to morph into the buff, built, and brawny superjock that he’s always dreamed of being. But some of us are just goofy and always will be. We lope sideways when we run, trip over our shoestrings (even when they’re tied), and just generally look laughable in shorts and sneakers.
But, in a week or two, I’ll feel like I’m ready to go out in public and will start walking very late at night (no critics around then) and soon, in another month or so, it’ll get too cold to be outdoors. That’s when I’ll have to move up to the inside track at the health complex, being careful as I work out to avoid eye contact with any of the pros there, lest they assume that this means that I want some friendly advice (“Don’t slam your heels down on the track,” “move your arms naturally,” “don’t slouch,” “blah, blah, blah”), which I do not, thank you! I’ll walk around the track, turning my head to the wall to avoid the dreaded eye contact, but I’ll walk around the track!
This is my plan. Not an ambitious plan, but it’s something to tell the doctor when he asks, “Are you ready to take the pills yet?” As one who’s fought the numbers game previously and won (temporarily), I know it can be done. I’m going to fight valiantly (and under the cover of darkness) and I hope to report in a few months that I’m seeing success. No promises, except for one thing…It won’t be pretty! So, stay off the streets late at night, unless you want to have a UFO to report (Uncoordinated Flabby Organism) upon your return home and a picture burned into your mind that will make you break into uncontrollable laughter every time you hear my name.
My new slogan: Veni, Vidi, Vege!
(I came, I saw, I ate my vegetables!)