Getting healthy is about to kill me

Have you noticed the covers on the women's weekly magazines lately? I'm talking about the ones with photos of gals that have lost 70-150 pounds. The captions usually read something like Eat Your Way to Better Health. The rest of the page is covered with blow ups of chocolate brownies and mile high lemon meringue pies, and how to whip up a fancy Italian dish using lard and white flour. We are definitely getting mixed messages about what it takes to get healthy.

That's why I stopped reading and listening to the experts and started doing my own thing. After you hit 60, diet and exercise aren't so much about fitting into a pair of jeans you wore 20 years ago. It's more like trying to live until your next birthday, making the seat belt rest across your body instead of around your neck, and sleeping without acid reflux.The first of this year my buddy (who wishes to remain anonymous) and I decided we were going to get healthy even if it killed us. So far it almost has. I mention this here only because everything is easier with a buddy . . . even enduring agony.

Since January the first day of every single month I have started a new diet or exercise program. It usually lasts about three days and then I am back to my old habits, fast food breakfast, lunch and dinner, and driving my car to my desk so I don't have to walk. But last month I finally found something that motivated me to get serious . . . fear. One of my friends and coworkers (the same age as I am) went in for routine tests because she didn't have any energy and came out with four bypasses. Yep, that got my attention.

I have cut back on my eating (it has helped tremendously that I now know chocolate is good for me) and I am exercising in moderation. At the same time I have tried to cut back on any medication I take including OTC drugs. I stopped my sinus meds (I now have a sinus headache 24/7), prescription arthritis med (I am so stiff I can hardly get out of a chair), and my osteoporosis med (I think I hear my bones cracking in the middle of the night), but I feel great . . . well not really great . . . but the pain is bearable.

The drawback to reducing my food intake has resulted in feeling like I am starved to death all the time. People are getting tired of asking how I am and my reply is short "starved". I am parking my car as far away from every door as I can get to force myself to walk, but I have Yellow Cab's number programmed into my cell phone just in case. I am exercising every night before bed. One night I tried to cheat and didn't exercise. I couldn't stand the guilt so I got up and started swinging those legs on the Gazelle. My spouse came tearing out of the bedroom when he heard a loud thud.

"Lee! What in the heck are you doing? It's 1:00 in the morning!"

I didn't get a lick of empathy from him when I said I had fallen asleep while exercising and fell off the Gazelle.

If I don't get anything else out of my new lifestyle I have solved one problem. I always wanted to be the one to compose what my headstone reads. I think I have settled on Here lies Lee Weeks, she lived hard, had fun and died healthy.