Had my May weigh in Wednesday. I clocked in at 185.
So it seems I’ve hit a point where I’m stable. My weight has been +/- 3lbs since January. And this is with a week vacation, more restaurant meals, and the occasional desert with the Girl.
I spent way too much time arguing with a doctor this week, who was way outside his lane, about my diet.
I have two types of doctors; one will in their lane like a rail. My GP for instance, who I asked about my bum shoulder and he said maybe the guy who fixed it two years ago ought to look at it. No function tests, and maybe hooking me up to physical therapy. Nope. Nada. My gut doctor, while super talented, is the same.
The second type is the Doc that veers far outside his area. I have a neurologist for the nerve issue in my jaw. He spends some time on that, then a bunch on emotional stuff. This is because the portal tagged me with depression/anxiety because I saw him the week the wife detonated our marriage. I can’t get them to remove that. So each visit he has a new psychotic med he thinks I need, followed by some really bad advice. Sure, the acid reducer I’m on may or may not cause dementia. (Turns out it’s bullshit). But it’s keeping my esophagus from burning up. Then he suggests an acid supplement. One cannot get rid of the acid reducer, then eat acid.
Another one is my pulmonologist. Apparently, my lung numbers are in the 98th percentile for a dude my age. Cool. Then he starts in on how I’m swallowing. As an aside, he was interested in this because it’s how I came to see him. When I was fatter, when I was sleeping, I’d reflux and my throat wouldn’t trigger a swallow so I’d get a lungful of acid. Fun. But that is over.
He noticed my weight loss, some 50 lbs. since I’d seen him last, and got fixated on what I said when I told him losing the weight was easy, since I don’t drink and eat stuff I used to. Stuff which would be hard to swallow anyhow, like a fast food hamburger, or fries. He got caught up that I didn’t eat because I couldn’t swallow right so my weight is nose diving. Took a minute to knock him off that train of thought.
I eat fine. I choose not to eat those foods. Even though I can eat them, I don’t, and as the chart shows, my weight has been stable since January. If I hadn’t started working out more intensely, it would be lower, but I’ve been packing on muscle. I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle for a guy my age.
Interestingly, I figured that my deflated fat belly would be just a gross mess forever, since skin doesn’t snap back on geezers old as me. But apparently, it does. I’m noticing my belly shrinking and tightening up. That’s a happy byproduct of weight lifting, I’m guessing. Dead lifts and squats have been tightening up my guts faster than any sit-up ever did.
Far as lifting, I’m progressing slowly. It’s hard, since there always seems to be a couple spaghetti armed puppies glomming the squat rack at the rec center when I need it. I get done my arms and shoulders, and nope, can’t get in on the rack. I may simply pull the geezer card and ask if you two ladies are done or can I hop in to do a few sets while you check your instagrams.
What I did was buy a bench for the rack I have, along with a weight tree. I’ll simply lift in my garage from now on. Screwit. I can’t seem to find a time where I can get a consistent workout there.
I’m finding that I can run longer and longer, but I’m holding back to make sure I don’t jack up my bones. So far, I don’t get anything but a little stiffness. When school gets out, I may go up to the track at the high school.
So. Progress.
SILVER ALERT!…SILVER KAWASAKI CONCOURSE…GEEZER WITH DEMENTIA LOST…
I’ll blame my stomach meds. Wonder if I can get disability, and enjoy the decline.
BTW Those jeans are 3 sizes smaller than this time last year, and are actually slim cut. Now, they are baggy.
Inspected By Pat 