I hope everyone had a fine holiday. I also hope everyone got a ton of Amazon gift cards, because both Longo Looks at CHRISTMAS and Longo Looks at DIETING are available for cheap. And if you’re like me, you might be thinking an awful lot about diets right now, and how maybe you should go on one once all the cookies are polished off.
If your current exercise regime consists of sidestepping the bathroom scale, you might enjoy this little excerpt of Longo Looks at DIETING:
Our bodies tell us when it’s time to consider losing a few pounds. If you’re like me, you’ll stick your fingers in your ears and shout, “I can’t hear you!” like a petulant child, but sadly, this doesn’t shut our bodies up. With a patience rivaling Mother Teresa’s, your body will sit back and bide its time. It’ll smirk when your knees start aching as you climb stairs; smile knowingly when your boobs jiggle right out of your bra as you make a mad dash to the doughnut shop to get there before they sell out of chocolate bombs. Your body thinks it’s funny when the seat of your pants splits as you sit down at the board table for that big meeting at work. So will your coworkers. Also, you’re not getting that promotion, and the CEO now refers to you as Toots McFartsaLot, because when your pants ripped, he thought you passed gas. We all hate hearing it, but it might be time to go on a diet.
Of course, sometimes it isn’t just our bodies or the scale telling us it’s time to do something about our weight, or even incredibly rude passersby who need to butt the hell out of our business. When things get really bad, a higher authority might speak up, too.
At Least You Have Your . . . Never Mind
If you’re overdue for your annual physical, my advice to you is to never go to the doctor again. As long as you feel fine, there’s no reason for those pesky blood tests and prostate exams. Because if you do feel fine, and you go because you figure, What’s the worst that can happen?, your doctor will be happy to give you a laundry list. And it will be much, much worse than you imagined.
When I went for my physical back in May, I felt fine. Sure, I was coughing at night, and my knee ached a little, but I figured things would improve once allergy season was over, and we stopped having rain every other day. Not so, my doctor warned. I was probably about to keel over. She sent me to an allergist, an orthopedic specialist, and a pulmonologist. Apparently, I was falling apart and didn’t even know it!
It turns out I’m moderately allergic to dust mites, to the point where I now have dust mite-induced asthma. I packed my informative pamphlet and my brand new inhaler in my purse and moved on. While waiting for the orthopedist, I read my pamphlet and found out it’s dust mite feces that contains the allergens, which doesn’t say much for my housekeeping, since I’ve been coughing my brains out for months. If I thought about it too much—I was breathing in so much spider poop at night it was interrupting my sleeping patterns—I might want to clean more, which sounded unpleasant. I decided to read an old issue of People instead and pass judgement on people like Kim Kardashian.
The orthopedist called me in, took a look at my knee, and told me I needed knee replacement surgery. But not yet, because you can only get three in a lifetime, and they only last for about fifteen years. So I would have to live with the pain and wait until it got so bad that I couldn’t climb up a flight of stairs on my own. My dreams of setting off metal detectors every time I went to the mall vanished. Feeling pretty low, I went on to the pulmonologist, forgetting that I didn’t need him anymore since I already knew why I was coughing.
The pulmonologist felt it would be ridiculous for him to waste a good co-pay, so he sat me down, confirmed that I shouldn’t be breathing microscopic spider poo, then tested my cholesterol for fun. After eating nothing but oatmeal and produce for three months, I’d managed to raise my cholesterol ten points higher than it had been at my last physical. He called the orthopedist, who conferenced in the allergist and my primary care physician, and they all agreed on the same diagnosis: I’m fat. This is what’s causing my knee, lung, and cholesterol issues.
I felt like whipping out a picture of myself from 2004 and saying, “You want to see fat? I’ve been fat!” but I restrained myself. I smiled, thanked him, and left the office, tossing my dust mite pamphlet in the trash as I left. Two weeks earlier, when I’d been oblivious to my overdue physical, I’d occasionally had an achy knee before it rained, was coughing because of ragweed, and most importantly, I felt skinny.
It’s clear what the source of all of my problems is: I never should have picked up the phone when they called to schedule my annual physical.
Longo Looks at DIETING is available now wherever books are sold! And HERE.
If your current exercise regime consists of sidestepping the bathroom scale, you might enjoy this little excerpt of Longo Looks at DIETING:
Our bodies tell us when it’s time to consider losing a few pounds. If you’re like me, you’ll stick your fingers in your ears and shout, “I can’t hear you!” like a petulant child, but sadly, this doesn’t shut our bodies up. With a patience rivaling Mother Teresa’s, your body will sit back and bide its time. It’ll smirk when your knees start aching as you climb stairs; smile knowingly when your boobs jiggle right out of your bra as you make a mad dash to the doughnut shop to get there before they sell out of chocolate bombs. Your body thinks it’s funny when the seat of your pants splits as you sit down at the board table for that big meeting at work. So will your coworkers. Also, you’re not getting that promotion, and the CEO now refers to you as Toots McFartsaLot, because when your pants ripped, he thought you passed gas. We all hate hearing it, but it might be time to go on a diet.
Of course, sometimes it isn’t just our bodies or the scale telling us it’s time to do something about our weight, or even incredibly rude passersby who need to butt the hell out of our business. When things get really bad, a higher authority might speak up, too.
At Least You Have Your . . . Never Mind
If you’re overdue for your annual physical, my advice to you is to never go to the doctor again. As long as you feel fine, there’s no reason for those pesky blood tests and prostate exams. Because if you do feel fine, and you go because you figure, What’s the worst that can happen?, your doctor will be happy to give you a laundry list. And it will be much, much worse than you imagined.
When I went for my physical back in May, I felt fine. Sure, I was coughing at night, and my knee ached a little, but I figured things would improve once allergy season was over, and we stopped having rain every other day. Not so, my doctor warned. I was probably about to keel over. She sent me to an allergist, an orthopedic specialist, and a pulmonologist. Apparently, I was falling apart and didn’t even know it!
It turns out I’m moderately allergic to dust mites, to the point where I now have dust mite-induced asthma. I packed my informative pamphlet and my brand new inhaler in my purse and moved on. While waiting for the orthopedist, I read my pamphlet and found out it’s dust mite feces that contains the allergens, which doesn’t say much for my housekeeping, since I’ve been coughing my brains out for months. If I thought about it too much—I was breathing in so much spider poop at night it was interrupting my sleeping patterns—I might want to clean more, which sounded unpleasant. I decided to read an old issue of People instead and pass judgement on people like Kim Kardashian.
The orthopedist called me in, took a look at my knee, and told me I needed knee replacement surgery. But not yet, because you can only get three in a lifetime, and they only last for about fifteen years. So I would have to live with the pain and wait until it got so bad that I couldn’t climb up a flight of stairs on my own. My dreams of setting off metal detectors every time I went to the mall vanished. Feeling pretty low, I went on to the pulmonologist, forgetting that I didn’t need him anymore since I already knew why I was coughing.
The pulmonologist felt it would be ridiculous for him to waste a good co-pay, so he sat me down, confirmed that I shouldn’t be breathing microscopic spider poo, then tested my cholesterol for fun. After eating nothing but oatmeal and produce for three months, I’d managed to raise my cholesterol ten points higher than it had been at my last physical. He called the orthopedist, who conferenced in the allergist and my primary care physician, and they all agreed on the same diagnosis: I’m fat. This is what’s causing my knee, lung, and cholesterol issues.
I felt like whipping out a picture of myself from 2004 and saying, “You want to see fat? I’ve been fat!” but I restrained myself. I smiled, thanked him, and left the office, tossing my dust mite pamphlet in the trash as I left. Two weeks earlier, when I’d been oblivious to my overdue physical, I’d occasionally had an achy knee before it rained, was coughing because of ragweed, and most importantly, I felt skinny.
It’s clear what the source of all of my problems is: I never should have picked up the phone when they called to schedule my annual physical.
Longo Looks at DIETING is available now wherever books are sold! And HERE.
See? Wicked cheap!
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