How Not to Die
I climbed on the scale and, just like Homer Simpson, I saw an “E” for error appear between my big toes.
I stepped off, reset the scale, and tried again. This time it read 331 pounds. I soon consulted a body mass index calculator which recommended that I either lose 166 pounds or become 8-foot-4.
When I was a lean teenager who played baseball and did 250 push-ups a day, frozen pizzas, sandwich cookies, and fried chicken were mainstays of my diet.
As I neared 40, I watched baseball, never did push-ups, and frozen pizzas, sandwich cookies, and fried chicken continued to be mainstays in my diet.
Having durable genetics, the garbage I ate never registered in my yearly blood work until this year.
I visited my doctor for my free check-up (thanks, Obama) and a couple days later she sent me a letter saying my cholesterol had ventured into the high range. The printout said under 200 was healthy and mine was at 218.
With hopes of living to see the parade at America’s tricentennial, and with the resiliency of youth starting to fade, I realized I needed to make some changes.
I also have lower back pain. My doctor prescribed me some gigantic ibuprofen and muscle relaxers I take daily, but she said the best remedy for the pain would be losing weight.
