You know, you can do everything right…

…and even still, sometimes the guy still dies. —Dean, from Supernatural
(h/t to one of B’s favorite shows)

I am so very, very frustrated.

I live with a locavore, home-cooking wizard, who has filled my life with excellent food from the day we met. And who has morphed my Filet-o-Fish-loving tastebuds into something Michael Pollan would be proud to observe. I eat when I’m hungry. I stop when I’m full. I have a glass of wine most nights, but dessert only a few nights.

Supported (distracted?) by one of my dearest friends, I formally exercise at least twice a week. Weights and high-intensity cardio, increased steadily by my robot overlord personal trainer.

And even so:
I am pre-diabetic, most likely because I’m overweight.

I found this out today. Was told to cut out all my sodas, candy, chips, and TV-watching sloth. This seems impossible, since I do none of those things. Was told to eat more protein, veggies, whole grains. What, like the home-made oatmeal, the half-plate of kale, the weekly salmon I already eat? There is NO low-hanging fruit to pluck, doctor-people!

So very, very frustrated.

I’ll own a keyboard– and book-induced lack of motion. When my iDevice Christmas present told me I’d taken fewer than 500 steps on Boxing Day, I was suitably appalled. And started taking more steps each day. I’ve been surprised at how faithfully I’ve been stepping, in fact. (Insert reference to my habit-bereft lifestyle here.)

On the other hand, I’ve gained weight since I started moving more.

It now appears that the hunger I thought I was supposed to honor—additional hunger that startled me in January—was lying to me.

Kinda late to find that out at this juncture. I am not happy to hear about how tsk tsk my middle-aged physique won’t shed that weight very easily. Because I was supposed to divine this how -?

I may be extra-bitter, because I keep harking back to a doctor I had in my mid-30s. At the time, I swam 3000 yards two or three mornings each week, carried about 150 lbs on my 5’5″ frame (it’s now close to 175), and was eating the aforementioned tasty food as prepared by My Sweetie. (So like now, only even more fit!) She told me I should lose weight; I should be closer to 130, and I needed to get a move on because weight loss only gets more difficult for women as their hormones shift.

What she never told me was what part of my healthy lifestyle I was supposed to change in order to hit her target.

What I still don’t get today is what part of my healthy lifestyle I’m supposed to change. “Eat less” is the only thing I can come up with. Which doesn’t address my prior swim-team-trained, school-of-hard-knocks lessons about “listen to your body.” Nor does it help my sinking feeling as I’m now remembering my very-frustrated mother at 55 saying, “I eat HALF A PORK CHOP FOR DINNER. What in heaven’s name am I supposed to be cutting back on?!”

C’mon, Medical Establishment. Give me some real engagement. No more boilerplate; no more looks as if I’m lying to you.

So very, very frustrated.


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