After my recent checkup, my doctor had me do some routine blood work to make sure I still have a healthy anxiety about needles. The blood draw went fine and I impressed the phlebotomist with how fast I can fill blood vials with my superior high blood pressure. My results were posted on the portal. My lysol was high, or something like that. My doctor made a note that said, “You need to watch your carbs and your sweet treats.”
What!? Like I sit around at night eating Justin’s Dark Chocolate Peanut Butter Cups or Moose Track Chocolate and Peanut Butter Ice Cream, both available at Kroger. Obviously, my doctor huffed too many exam room fumes. I gave my wife the news.
“The doctor said I need to eat more carbs and sweet treats, or something like that.”
“I’m sure she did,” said Tasha. “Doctors are always saying things like that. Did she say you need to exercise less, which would render you inert? Did she say you’re not smoking enough cigarettes?”
Dammit. GenXers. They don’t believe anything. I tried, “She said we need to put in an elevator because stair climbing is dangerous for my thighs and morale.”
Tasha smirked and walked away. I called after her, “The blood test said my cheese levels were alarmingly low!”
I needed to do something healthy so I put a health app on my phone. There. Let my phone do healthy things. I checked it at the end of the day and it said I had eaten zero calories. Good. Room for some sweet treats. My daughter asked how many steps I got in that day. “It says 7,” I reported. “I assume 10 is optimal, so I got a C. That’s passing.”
“You never carry your phone around,” she harassed me.
“It’s a smartphone,” I said. “It knows what I’m doing.”
“You need to get in at least 10,000 steps,” she chided.
10,000 steps!? The word “mile” is from the Greek “mille”, meaning 1,000. I assume they mean feet. I have long legs and each step is probably three feet, which we call a yard for no good reason. No one has a yard that small. But with my math skills, I figured that means they are expecting me to walk 30 miles each day.
Side note: I got a truck about a year and a half ago. It has fewer than 5,000 miles on it right now because all I do is go to Kroger and back each day. Kroger is two miles away.
Okay, back to my point. For me to get in 30 miles of walking each day, that means 7½ trips to Kroger on foot. That also means I have to spend the night at Kroger every other night, but that’s not a problem because they love me there. The real problem is me bringing home a bag of peanut butter cups with each trip. I don’t think I can eat 7 bags of peanut butter cups a day. That’s just madness. Delicious madness.
I’m going to clarify with my doctor and see if this is what she meant. I’ll see her next year.