Well today stunk! I spent the afternoon at the doctors office for a follow up consultation from lab work I had done recently. In the last couple of months I have visited two different doctors, and been recommended to visit another, which I chose not to do. Two of the three agree on my diagnosis, and I am sure the third would have to had I visited him. We talked about weight, blood pressure, cholesterol, kidney function and triglycerides, and all sorts of fun topics, that each had the same basic theme: the numbers aren't good. Basically everything that is wrong with me boils down to one of two things, one I can fix and one I cannot. I am fat and I am old.
Now before you go chastising me in the comments section, I understand that both of those terms are relative. Many of you are laughing and thinking, "Child you don't know anything about being old yet, you're still a baby." Well that may be true to a 60 year old, but the fact is I'm 38. That's knocking on 40, four decades on earth. The only way that could honestly be considered young is if I lived before the flood when folks were living to be seven or eight hundred years old. The average man in America lives to be about 75, so that puts me right smack dab in the middle of my life. Middle, as in middle age, as in mid life crisis. If this was a round of golf I would be teeing off on the back nine. And you know what? I know it. I didn't need twelve years of medical school to figure it out. I've noticed the way I have to turn my ear towards the person talking if we are in a room full of other conversations or background noises. My family tells me how loud I'm talking or how loud the tv is. I have caught myself squinting or moving something closer or farther to help me see it clearly. I have watched the grey, and now white hairs go from peppering my beard to taking over my chin, migrating north to my mustache and now spreading like kudzu up both sides of my jawline. I get a little reminder each time I get up from sitting in one position for just a little too long as I have to allow time for my back to straighten all the way up or the blood to flow to my feet. You can't forget the fact you are growing older when you have a reminder about 6:00 every morning thanks to the bladder alarm. It's easy to remember when you carry a mental rolodex of all the foods that just aren't worth eating because of their side effects (smoked foods, greasy foods, fried foods, heartburn, indigestion, nausea); and that list is about as long as the ones you still can enjoy consequence free. You know it because you now consider it to be a good day simply because nothing hurt today.
Some people don't like the word fat because they feel it is insulting or demeaning. I am not one of those people. To me husky, overweight, heavy, chunky, plus size, etc, aren't any better. To me it's just a description. I realize that some would look at me and say, "You're not fat, I'd love to be your size." I am also sure that some would look at me and think, "Please don't ever let me get to looking like that." This isn't a commentary on society, or you, this is all about me, and the truth is, I'm fat. I am 5'9" tall (short by most standards) and weigh 226 lbs (I have been 238), significantly overweight by most medical recommendations. I should probably weigh around 175 to 190 lbs. I haven't weighed that low in eighteen years. On my 30th birthday I was down to 197 during an attempt to get in the best shape of my life by 30. I was close, but got derailed by a cracked foot.
I know how I got here. Entire pepperoni pizzas. Two liters of Coke in a day. Seconds and thirds of supper. Little Debbies for breakfast. Cans of chocolate cake frosting as a snack (yes you read that last sentence correctly). Nom, nom, nom, nom, nom. I could go on, but you get the point. I've eaten garbage, mostly processed, high fat, high sugar, high calorie, fast foods in vast amounts for long periods of time and they have gradually eroded my health and body. I lived like there was not a tomorrow, but tomorrow came and now I'm stuck with the consequences. Things like "pre-diabetic condition" and "elevated risk of heart disease" and pants that slide down your pot belly to your hips or getting out of breath tying your shoes because your stomach pushes all of the air out of your diaphragm, and the worst of all knowing that women no longer see you as good looking or handsome, but jolly.
The worst part is I know it shouldn't be and didn't have to be this way. To alter Garth Brooks line a little, "I'm much too young to feel this old." I enjoyed thirty-eight years of reckless abandon and now the party is over, or else the party will truly be over much sooner than necessary. Not a single Britton man in my lifetime has lived past 65 or lived past 65 without having had at least one heart attack, and the way I've lived I am on the same path. I'm not sad, just disappointed. I have shown no self discipline. Eighteen years ago I battled a very strong drinking problem but I beat it and have continued to beat it every day for 6,420 days in a row. Unfortunately I traded it for a socially acceptable addiction, food. And I can rarely beat it for more than three or four days in a row.
I didn't write this for sympathy or pity, or to get encouragement. I wrote it as therapy. It's what's on my mind today and I'm trying to take out my trash before I go to bed. The good news is, it is mostly fixable with lifestyle changes. Eat healthier, drink lots of water and exercise regularly and most of this stuff will go away and I can fix myself. Speaking of that, I think I'll go fix myself a little snack before bed ;)
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