I’ve been going to the gym regularly since my sojourn at Mayo last fall. Six weeks in Minnesota, and now 10 months at home. I’ve been fortunate in my trainers. Especially working with J here, we’ve strengthened my lower back to the point that I can once again lift, twist, and sit up (with effort but no pain) from a supine position. I’ve gotten generally stronger and more flexible, too. So I’m very pleased with all that (except for the effing mirrors).
I had not, however, been losing weight during all this, because when I’m emotionally down, I eat. And drink. And thanks primarily to Big Lu, I’ve been emotionally down. A little less than a month ago, I weighed in at 186 (84 kg), which finally got through to me as repellant, revolting, and repulsive. Enough was enough. I went on a diet (Weight-Watchers, more or less). Ta-da! At the gym today, I was 176 (80). I can fit again into what I think of as my ”regular” jeans. I can actually run a bit, rather than rumbling and tumbling. J took a body fat measurement, made a few calculations, and told me my proximate goal should be 163 (74). So that’s what I’m shooting for now.
I carry a few weights around in my mind. I ran in high school at a lithe (or perhaps cadaverous)126 (57 kg). In college I weighed in every day for four years at 132 (60). My training diary from the late ’70s, when I was in the best shape of my life, tells me I was stable at 143 (65). Naturally, then, my theoretical goal is to get back to 143. Being realistic though, I’ll throw a big party at 163 (virtuously watching the guests eat and drink, while ostentatiously nibbling on an apple and sipping sparkling water) and be utterly thrilled if I can drive on down to, say,155.
Of course, next week I head back to Minnesota for a check-up that will include a reunion with Big Lu, so things will bog down a bit. But I think this may be my last injection. (Remember Peter Lorre in Casablanca: “Addio, Casblanca”? For me, it’s going to be a gleeful. insouciant, “Addio, Leuprolide.)
Hoping to hang in there with this.