Also serving the communities of De Luz, Rainbow, Camp Pendleton, Pala and Pauma

Kicking It IV

I cannot tell a lie. Well, I can, but I won’t in this case. Working out is work. It has become my job.

It seems to be as much mental as physical. The first being – I actually have to get to the gym – once there, oddly enough the body takes over and craves the very exercise I consider denying it.

Just to say it aloud, the truth is my brain is not fully happy with my physical results.

Just the same, my daughter forewarned me to be prepared. She advised me two months ago, “Mother, nothing will happen for six months.” It has been two months, heading in to my ninth week.

For anyone trying to lose a few pounds, it is doubly disheartening that my ukulele strumming husband has lost another pound. Eleven pounds for him and six for me, working out six times a week.

I am taking another thyroid blood draw about the time the paper comes out. The last thyroid test results suggested I have an underactive gland. So, without telling my doctor, I doubled up on my dosage from 25 mg to 50 mg. His concern is too much levothyroxine can stress my heart.

Especially since last year I did have an incident. One Friday night, I got Fallbrook EMT’s version of Disney’s Wild Toad ride to Palomar Hospital. The next morning, testing proved there was not any heart damage. It was most likely a brain blip and for goodness' sake, no one has ever accused me of overworking that organ.

Today’s weigh-in and bone density-fat testing indicated my Body Mass Index is 25.1. I was thrilled. Until Kellen pooh-poohed it. He said, “no one uses that anymore.” Hardly seems fair does it?

As it stands my actual body fat measures 40% of my body weight. Subtract 3.5% for the girly parts, the rest is bones, organs, muscle, blood, water and fat.

As a result, I am to send Kellen my food diary. While I’ve written down everything that went inside my mouth for a long while now, I can tell you for sure one thing to do is stop eating bread. Spit it out of your mouth. Just stop eating it. Here is why.

Yesterday, I took in 1,000 calories, but I had 80 carbs. Forty-nine of them from a slice of homemade sourdough bread and one Hawaiian brand roll. Bread equates to poison. I am removing it from my food pyramid.

Furthermore, today is a red-letter day. I have stopped adding artificial sweetener to my coffee and have stopped drinking diet soda.

I am going back to my skinny ways when I used real sugar at 16 calories per teaspoon and only drank Coca-Cola in the 8-ounce glass bottle.

If you don’t get a free gym membership, you might check into changing Medicare programs to one that does.

Here is the bottom line about this whole exercise business. Either do it while you can get there on your own two feet or wait until your caretaker rolls you in after your stroke.

It isn’t a hard decision. And you get to grumble all the way to the gym or you can try some exhilarating car screaming. Only 169 days until I leave for my birthday celebration.

Elizabeth Youngman-Westphal can be reached by email at [email protected].

 

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