I’m one of those people who loves my donut and latte. I love that I cannot ever use my gym membership and feel absolutely no guilt. And I love that I can watch swimming and marathons on TV and live vicariously through those exquisite physical specimens and feel good about myself.
Now it was all different. I had to have a makeover. I didn’t want this. I resisted. No trans-fats or saturated fats. That meant no donuts or fries. This would lower plaque. Did that mean I didn’t need to go to the dentist anymore?
I had to exercise 4 times a week. Maybe I would have to sweat while walking or jogging or actually showing up at the gym where no one knew my name. I apparently needed more oxygen inside me and needed my blood flowing faster. This would lower stress. All the while the doctor is telling me to do this he’s telling me if I feel chest pain, shortness of breath or weakness of limbs to stop and call the hospital. OK so this could kill me?
The doctor wanted me on a Mediterranean diet. That sounded great. I always wanted to cruise the Greek Isles. I could do that and fantasize.
The last thing was no stress. I loved that. If anyone pissed me off I could just explain I had just had a heart attack and they were working my last good nerve and could cause me to have another attack. They would have to be nice to me!
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