My physical

I went to see the doctor for my annual physical.  Well, it used to be annual, but I think my doctor is a bit fond of me because for the last couple years he's been seeing me every six months.  He's either sweet on me or simply milking me as a revenue stream. 

Anyway, I went in last Friday to have blood drawn because my blood is better on Friday than on Monday because I drink on the weekends and the good stuff I drink is bad news for my blood.  Initially, they couldn't find any of the results, and then after realizing my name defies English grammar with an 'e' before 'i' even though it doesn't follow a 'c,' the doctor came back with the numbers.

He said my weight was down, my blood pressure was good, and my wit was as sharp as ever.  He asked how I'd been doing and I explained that I was in the process of wanting to run a minimarathon, as well as in the middle of Operation: Fat Bastard.  His next question, "Still drinking the fancy beer?"

I replied, "You've got the results of the blood work, you tell me." 

My cholesterol was fine and my triglycerides sucked (par for the course for me).  He shook his head and said, "Damned, you've been exercising, your bad cholesterol is down, but so is your good cholesterol."  He smiled, looked at me, and said, "I never can understand your results."

He said to just keep doing what I was doing.  Then I got the best news ever.  Instead of saying, "Drop your britches so I can mess with your plums," he said, "Ok, I'll see you in six months."  And with that, I was out of there.

I'm still old, I'm still mostly fat, but I'm reasonably healthy, as long as my triglycerides don't go any higher. 

All that said, the scale did get a bit of revenge.  The damned thing went all the way up to 181.0 this morning.  I'm not sure how, as I didn't eat much last night and ran both before Hayden's Advent program, and again this morning.  Oh well, I'm still going to kick its ass shortly.