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I went to the doctor yesterday, my first-ever real check up (other than the wandering into the living room, flopping onto the couch, and expositing on my symptoms to my father). I apparently have a heart murmur. That wasn’t so surprising; I went in because my heart was doing something funny. What was surprising was when I stepped on the scale.

It pointed to 116.

That’s about 30 pounds lighter than 4 years ago, when, at about this time, I was feasting on the pastries and meat dishes of North Africa. While 4 years is rather a long time, I’ve only weighed myself very intermittently since then. Since then, also, I’ve expanded my diet to more than the potatoes I bought in bulk to be the frugal college student I was, had several very active jobs, decided I liked roadbiking, got engaged, and, finally, stopped going to the gym because I was too busy, and because there was that something wrong with my heart.

Not going to the gym has really been the final straw, so to speak. My muscle mass has melted away in the last year. Although I really only noticed it when I stepped on the scale. It’s not like I’ve needed it at my desk job.

I went down to Moscow yesterday evening, where my sister, a nurse, who also has heart problems, Googled my stats and told me I needed to eat more junk food. I have a better idea: 1. find out if I can run without dying 2. become more active again 3. gain the weight back.

This will actually work. Trust me. Also, maybe I should weigh myself more often.

Today I went to Lewiston, where my brother had a Rugby tournament and tackled someone skull-first, giving himself a concussion and sending the other guy to the hospital for 20 stitches. My brother weighs a lot more than I do. According to the Google stats, he’s overweight, but then again, looking at him, he doesn’t have an ounce of visible fat. So I’m pretty sure Google’s wrong.

After being at the tournament all day, I attended another brother’s concert, which was less nerve-racking to watch than the Rugby matches. This brother also has less fat than either the Rugby player or me. However, despite this flaw, there still seemed to be plenty of feminine fans who dropped in on the gig. Afterwards, my sister, two brothers and I sang outside in the snow to the passing drunks on Main street.

We all had enough energy to complete the song, despite our hearts and heads and ribs. And that’s what matters, right?

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