The League apologizes for the lack of posting.
Thursday morning I met with my doctor and I said "Well, I need to lose some weight. I was hoping to come up with some sort of dietary plan and maybe an exercise plan."
Dr. Chang does not suffer fools, and made it pretty clear that my getting in shape was not his responsibility, it was my own. Apparently he's quite sick of people asking how he can help people get in shape, but at the end of the day, he can't really help people eat less and exercise. "Everything else in this world," he told me "you can pay somebody else to do it for you. I can pay someone to clean my house or wash my car. I can't pay someone to work out for me. I can't pay someone to eat less."
Anyway, we had a long discussion about how my lazy caveman brain didn't want for me to work out because it wanted to store energy for fight-or-flight moments, but since I'm not routinely being attacked by wild beasts, I needed to show some will-power.
Schedule? Schedules are for losers. Every day. I must go out and exercise every day. None of this every-other-day crap. Not after work, either. After work there are excuses and things to do and distractions. So with the sad knowledge that I must now go to bed earlier, I am getting up in the dark (which in AZ in Spring is pretty early), patting Mel on the head, and putting on my sneakers.
What should I do for an exercise? I asked. Run. It's cheap and you don't need equipment or a place to go to do it. No gym membership. No trainer. Just move your fat ass faster than normal and try not to have a heart-attack.
"This is the United States," Dr. Chang advised me, "If you drop dead, they'll resucitate you."
So I'm running.
Not well, mind you. The first day I kept waiting for Thursday night's dinner to come back at me. My knees were killing me and I felt generally beat up all day on Saturday.
So I'm trying running. I've no technique and I'm mixing stretches of running with stretches of walking until I'm positive I won't vomit. And I'm only on day 4, so give me a @#$%ing break.
Memories of 8th grade keep coming back to me, when I took athleticism as a point of pride. I wasn't any track star, but I had one of the top 1/3rd times in the mile on the football team (and I was a lineman). I could run two miles and get sweaty, but not tired. Muscles and joints didn't hurt. And you never cared if people were watching you run because you might look funny.
Youth is wasted on the wrong people.
Sunday Jamie and I met up for lunch with Tami Nelson. Tami and I have orbited one another since high school, then in college, then out of college, and somehow we continue to bump into one another and occasionally keep in touch.
Tami is my token Katrina victim. She left Austin 5 or more years ago for the promise of adventure in New Orleans. Long enough, anyway, for it to become home. She evacuated herself and her world-famous cat, Tom Proctor, prior to the storm, going back to Spring for what she believed was a long weekend. She's now in Austin, and there's a story there, but it's Tami's and I don't really feel like I'm the one to share the story second-hand.
While in New Orleans Tami had become involved in improvisational comedy. The remarkable part of her story is that her troupe, scattered to the four winds in the evacuation, found one another and regrouped in Austin. They renamed themself and are now performing a mixed bag of local Austin shows and travelling to improv festivals, apparently stronger now than prior to the hurricane.
Anyhoo, it's always great to see someone out here in the Valley of the Sun. Bits and pieces of your former life do occasionally wash up on shore, and it's always interesting to see "how much did we change? Or did we change at all?"
Tami has an interesting opportunity, and if it materializes the way it sounds like it might, I'll let you cats know. Folks in Texas might be particularly interested.
Also, if you are in Austin, look for performances by ColdTowne.