I had to report that I weigh 200 pounds. Not 199.9 or 200.1 pounds, but 200.0 pounds.
Before completing a physical examination with my primary care physician a few weeks back, the nurse came in to weigh me and take my blood pressure. As I have since posted, my physical resulted in a prescription for Lisinopril, which I take every night around dinner time, an order for a colonoscopy (completed last Thursday), and a visit to the urologist, who is going to do a test on me in late January that I do not even want to think about to determine that, Yes, I have an enlarged prostate.
As written in my last (long) post, I now take 10 mg of fiber daily in the form of two 5 mg gummy pills in an effort to help with my recently-diagnosed hemorrhoids. Oh, goody!
Truth be told, I procrastinated so long on this blog piece that I lost nine pounds last week while fasting, blasting my insides out last Wednesday during my “shitty day” and easing back into regular eating last Friday and Saturday. I went four straight days without coffee too, a new World Record for me since I turned thirty sixteen years ago.
The thing is, as I also wrote in my last post, I spent the last four days eating like a pig with them feeding us a sumptuous platter of food at work on Wednesday, two straight days of eating at a holiday buffet at work, numerous cookies at work and at home, dinner out at Bonefish Grill on Friday night, and pretty much eating all day today including a well-prepared dinner of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, peas and biscuits, all made by my wife, tonight.
I am probably back to the 200.0 pounds that I was in October, but I am afraid to look.
I know that a lot of us Middle Aged, Middle Class Guys have put on a lot of weight since high school, but my case is a little more pronounced, and I will tell you why.
I ran both cross country and track (the mile and also the half mile in the two-mile relay) for four years of high school. I was like a running machine, and could run a brisk six to eight miles at about a seven minute pace without breaking a sweat. This was back in the mid- to late-1980’s, by the way.
In term of my times, I ran the mile in about 4:35 during my junior year of high school and a few ticks over two minutes, perhaps 2:03 through 2:05 in the half mile. I never broke the two minute mile during my junior year, as the other three in our relay team did every race.
My best three mile time in cross country was one second under sixteen minutes, thus I could run those three miles at a pace of 5:20. That was either third or fourth best on my team, never top two, since we had a guy who could break fifteen minutes and another guy who came in right behind him every race. It was me or one other comparable runner who alternated third and fourth for our school and, if you know how cross country works, you add up the finishing places of your top five finishers (out of seven total in the Varsity race) and the lowest score wins. Thus, it is very important for all five runners to place high, which I typically did.
I could never match or beat my times as a junior during my senior year, during which I sustained a major knee injury (my first such injury) while playing goalie during soccer in gym class.
Basically, I was kicked in the knee so hard while making a save that I could not walk without crutches for weeks, let alone run three miles under sixteen minutes. I missed the State cross country meet which I still regret twenty-nine years later. I never got back to my top form of the day that I ran a 4:35 at the regional track meet in May of my junior year of high school.
I mention that because I was a thin 120 pounds or so when I entered high school, and a wiry and strong 135 or so pounds at graduation. I was once measured at 6% body fat. Those were the days!
I put on the freshman fifteen at the UW in Mad City, although I am a Guy and not a Girl, but I was able to easily procure as much cheap beer as a freshman on the prowl could consume, and consume it I did, along with an abundance of ice cream, rice crispy treats, bread and ground-beef based meals. I impressed and shocked relatives at the holidays with my rapid weight gain, also contributed to by stopping running altogether. At that point, I was beyond burned out by four years of running.
At my college graduation at the age of just turning 22, I weighed about 160, having put on about 25 pounds in four-and-a-half years. When I was in my late twenties, I was still playing competitive baseball in an adult league and was a fairly strong 170-pounder who could get into a fastball or hanging curve and crush it 400 feet. Keep in mind, we used aluminum bats, so many a player could hit one out of the park. I had a titanium aluminum bat that I used, and did not like when other players used it, that was 33 inches long and only 28 ounces.
I have not played baseball since about 2000, two years after our son was born.
Ironically, I had my best season ever at the age of 27, the year our son was born, despite having almost no sleep. I was working out regularly then and was probably at my physical peak, if I had to name an age for that. Let me tell you here, it is hard to name a feeling better than connecting perfectly with a fast ball, watching the ball quickly sail into the sky and knowing that you just undoubtedly hit a home run. I hit about twenty-five of them that year, I cannot recall the exact number, and thought that I had nowhere to go but up in that league, perhaps even winning the triple crown out of hundreds of players.
Constraints on my time, wanting to spend more time with my wife and baby son and trying to survive at work and saving for the house that we have now lived in for fifteen years got together to contribute to me never having a successful season again after 1998, in addition to several ankle sprains in what is now my chronically sore right ankle.
I regret not playing more after 1998, especially because my late father was on the team and my brother played with us then, too, when he could. My father got us both into it, having been affiliated with this semiprofessional team since the late 1960’s when it was formed.
My brother was and is a far superior player to me and to my father, but he did not accumulate the statistics that I did because he was currently a college player and could only play with our team on weekends once his school season was over. He would hit more home runs than me when he played, and usually pitched a shutout or 1- or 2-run game to boot.
I cannot recall my exact weight then, but it was about 170.
I spent the next several years working on home improvement, taking care of my wife and son, working like a dog at a difficult job with a one hour-plus commute from home, and generally building toward the future that we are now “enjoying.”
I became a coffee addict, ate way too many cookies and Skittles for my own good, worked at office jobs year after year and stopped exercising almost altogether due to laziness, lack of funds and time to join a gym, and constantly suffering from job-related anxiety. The years went by, and the pounds went to my gut.
In an effort to do shorter and more interesting entries, I am going to conclude this by saying that 200 pounds really is not so bad, but I still do not want to weigh that much.
I used to write out New Year’s Resolutions every year, and must have written “get to and stay at 175 pounds” for a few years, and then “get to and stay 185 pounds” for a few years as I inched toward 200. The last two or three years, I have not even bothered writing down any Resolutions, since I so rarely accomplished any of the worthwhile ones.
I am not resolving to lose weight now, either, but I am at least thinking about it and that’s a start.