oh hell no

Last Friday I went to the gym. It’d been a forever. Got on the scale and read one hundred forty-frickin’ two.


Poor Cody. I went to the pool to meet him. He was dawdling by the edge screwing up the gumption to face the temperature change. (His body doesn’t do well with such fluctuations). I might have said some greeting. I think it was more like a grunt. I jumped past.  I took off. I ignored the tingling left leg. I ignored him. I can do this. Twelve laps.

There is a moment where I’m tired enough to explain. “I am mad. I am angry that my body is not what it was.”

And it’s okay. “You’ll get back to where you feel good about you.” he says.

Bridget says I ought to cut my self some slack. But anger is good fuel sometimes. I’ll use it.

Monday; 14 laps: Tuesday; sixteen. Today will be eighteen.

It’s not a matter of feeling ugly, although I do sometimes. It’s the residue of mortality – a reminder that my body is frail. But no. There is absolutely no reason I can’t be who I was before the stroke. No. Better than who I was.

The muscle is under there, teased into awakening. I am going to be fifty in a few weeks. It will be a strong, pugnacious, glorious fifty. Just watch me.


  1. Thanks, Brint! I may buy the fitbit next paycheck. Looks pertinent. My sleep patterns are also whack and it look like this may be easier than trying to schedule something with the doctor.

  2. Itzel

    I have the same problem every time I step on that scale, which is like every other week haha.. I think is normal to feel that way…

    But if I may say.. when I turn 50, I hope I look as good as you do… 🙂

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Back to Top