I came across the below today while cleaning out my travel backpack. Let me preface what is written by stating to anyone who might not know it already, that I am overweight - and not by just a few pounds - no illusions here. At all.
Summer 2010:
Here I am, ending my vacation in my beautiful home state of Missouri. It's been a wonderful time, and I've enjoyed every minute as always. But for the first time, coming back home in all these many years, I've noticed something I never really have before - though why I haven't is beyond me - I simply cannot believe the number of people I've seen in Missouri and now in O'Hare airport [connecting flight] that are horribly obese.
Right now I'm in a restaurant and am watching two women, a mother and daughter perhaps, based on their visual ages. The older lady is in a motorized wheel chair and on oxygen, the younger lady is mobile - and both are hugely obese. They are being served their lunches of bacon double cheeseburgers with sides of both fries and onion rings. Whether their sodas are diet or regular, I haven't a clue. They both eat every single bite of everything. And then they have dessert.
Shamed to say I had also ordered a cheeseburger - but after that jolt (on top of seeing the lady in the wheelchair giving herself an insulin shot in the middle of her lunch), I ashamedly eat only half my burger and just a few of my fries - not a normal occurrence for me.
Ironically, on the flight from St. Louis [to ORD] I'd read in a magazine that if you begin exercising at age 50+ for 3 vigorous hours a week and get down to a normal weight that in 5 years you can return to the healthful self you were before sabotaging yourself with over-indulgence, and extend your life for a bazillion years. OK, not a bazillion years, but a healthy decade or two.
Good God! We all [read I] need to wake up! When did bad food choices and being couch potatoes become the great comforter to the majority of us?
If I'm honest with myself, I will admit to the errors of my ways. I clomp, most definitely do not gracefully glide. I can't possibly jump down or even step down from a distance without it hurting or me being unsure of myself. Fear of falling? I have that.
I woud love to snow ski again. No way would I even try with the physical shape - or lack thereof - I'm in.
Guess I need to answer this:
Good years lived.
Do I want 62................or 92?
abb
It's time to answer, abb, definitely time!
