Edged in Blue

I have not had a good year weight and fitness-wise, despite getting a million pedometer steps in this summer.  I could say it’s because I’ve been having such a wonderful time with this amazing woman I’ve met and married in short order that the food’s gone to my waistline.  She is a damn good cook, and we’ve gone out to some nice restaurants this year.

However, I’m the one who could have said no to the extra slices of pizza, the seconds on spaghetti in Evil J sauce (a recipe so secret even I’m not sure what I’m doing when I make it), the pancake breakfasts during our honeymoon, all that beer I’ve drunk this summer, and…  You get the picture.  I could have said no.

Result?  I went from 275 pounds on New Year’s Day to as high as 290 a couple weeks ago.  Those of you who’ve been with me since the old Northcoast Exile blog know that 310 nearly killed me.

Literally.

But there’s more, kids.  My flirtation with adult-onset diabetes has become a full-blown romance.  I have a scarlet letter D plastered to my chest.  No, I’m not buying diabetes a ring and going full-on insulin shots on it.  I just can’t commit so soon after committing to Nita.  Nita makes my heart flutter.  Diabetes will likely make it stop.  Fortunately, I’m at the pills and exercise phase, and kids, that’s all the farther I wanna go.

Knee pain is back, and it’s brought it’s buddy, hip pain, with it.  Obnoxious bastards, knee and hip pain.

I’m not even worried about my breathing.  While up and walking around is not a problem, I am approaching my ninth consecutive year of sleeping while looking like Hannibal Lecter and sounding like Darth Vader.

One morning, AJ bopped in early to say “Good morning” to his mom and the weird guy she married.  I looked up at him, still strapped into the machine that keeps me from snoring and said, “AJ, I am your stepfather!”  AJ shook his head and said, “Whatever.“

As for my liver, we haven’t been on speaking terms in years.  I’m not quite David Crosby, but my doctor gets to the elevated liver emzymes portion of my bloodwork and says, “So, do you drink?”  “Everytime I think about what my liver emzyme levels are.”  “Don’t blame you.”

Throw in blood pressure and the threat of a stroke every time I tie my shoes, and…

Ah, hell, didn’t we go down this road before?  Is Nita going to have to login one of these days and tearfully let you all know I just dropped dead of a heart attack before I even reach fifty?

Hell, no!

Fortunately, I married someone to share the burden with.  Nita has her own issues to deal with, and diet and exercise are the top recommendations from her doctor.  She looks better than me and seems to be in better shape, but her problems manifest themselves differently.

So now we’re watching portions together.  We just worked out in the living room together.  Despite the cold weather, we plan to hike a lot together.  Remember how much I talked about hiking last year?  Yeah.  Does a body good.

Besides I don’t feel like getting yelled at by the company nurse next year when we get our free blood screenings.