Lots of folks have been commenting about my weight. Thanks for being curious and or concerned. I’ve lost 25 pounds and landed at 180, or a pound or two below, depending on my intake of fuel and output of energy any particular day.
The weight loss is, I consider, a major reason that I’m very much more than fine. I’m mighty fine—feel like a million bucks (pre-2009 million bucks).
How and why does a middle-aged guy decide to lose 25 pounds from his not overweight frame? Long story. Got a minute?
At age 40, I was a superman. Weren’t you? I routinely rang the strongman bell at the fair, with one arm, and one swing, while whistling The Knack’s, “My Sharona.” I’d tote giant rolled living room carpets on my shoulder for miles, just to say so. Women? Ha, two, three to a shot, then wonder how I still had energy left to pet the cat. For fun on my 40th birthday, I leapt a tall building, 14 times, in 15 minutes.
Then in the winter of my 40th year, skiing, I caught both tips in some heavy powder. Upon yanking the tips out, I felt a wrench and tug in my lower back. Right than and there, superman lost his cape, for good – but I didn’t know it.
I skied the rest of the day on residual superman pheromones. Real smart. Then I went to a back doctor, who took an x-ray and calmly told me after viewing the x-ray,
“You have a bad back.”
I said, “Yeah, I know.”
He repeated, “You have a, bad back.”
“That’s why I’m here doc, yeah.”
“No, you have a bad back,” he insisted. Then pausing, he tapped his middle finger on the problem area of the x-ray and continued, “you always will.”
Rusty DeWees tours Vermont and Northern New York with his act “The Logger.” His column appears weekly. Reach him at firstname.lastname@example.org.