Yeah. I know. I said I was going on a hiatus. Whatevs. I just had one more thing to bring to the table.
'Member when my doctor asked me if I thought about gastric bypass, when I was all distraught about my widely fluctuating weight? 'Member?
Well guess what? He had me get a blood test to make sure my thyroid was okay and and if I wasn't diabetic, etc. Looks like I'm pretty healthy.
I KNOW! I say this all the time.
He called me yesterday with the results and was like, "Your thyroid's where it should be, so we don't need to change your dosage. blah blah blah. Your cholesterol is shockingly low. It's amazing."
That's what he said - "shockingly...amazing." I have good-ass cholesterol. I ain't going anywhere. I defy all odds!
I'm not surprised about this, because I know I don't eat crap. And I don't drink all that often. And that's my choice.
Yet...I know from my body analyses that I have a couple dozen pounds of pure fat hanging on my frame. I'm not comfortable with that. Not because it could eventually do some damage to my joints or that it gives people reason to judge me, or it makes me uncomfortable on public trans. But because that shit is freeloading on my body.
That's right. I've come to see my fat as nothing but a stowaway. It's not hurting me - now - but it's not exactly helping me, either.
In Philip Roth's story, Goodbye, Columbus, the main character - Neil Klugman - lives with an aunt who has a strange aversion to pepper. Because she once read that black pepper has no nutritional value, she does not cook or season with it; she doesn't like the idea of a food product that gets a free ride through the digestive tract.
I always thought that this was laughably insane reasoning, but I think she and I have something in common. As of this moment, I see my fat the way she sees black pepper: It's just along for the ride.
Why should I spend the rest of my life bailing water out of a sinking boat while the fat sits back eating the rations? I should be sailing smoothly toward the horizon.
So there's that,
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