60 Months to Iron Man
I used to be an athlete. Then I weighed 368 pounds. Now this. THIS.
It’s my birthday today. I’m 45. I have three years left until my bonus years start. Let me explain:
My mother was 48 when she died. I was 24, exactly half her age.
There are plenty of sad things about that statement.
Like the fact that my mom was half done with her life the year I was born. Or how she put pretty much everything on hold while she raised us, then died the spring after her youngest child graduated from high school.
I’ve lived my whole life knowing that before I even had the chance to get old, I’d be older than she ever was. I have always thought of the years I’ll have when I’m older than 48 as my bonus years and the closer I get to them, the more that freaks me out.
In July 2015 I did something pretty drastic to give myself a better chance of getting to have those bonus years. I had 80 percent of my stomach removed, which caused me to lose about a third of my body weight.
