Alert the fashion police!

Even though it was 33 degrees Celsius yesterday, I completed my standard 7K run. In anticipation of the perspiration waterfall, I donned, for the very first time . . . spandex shorts. I know, even the mental image of a fat guy in spandex sends shivers down the spine, but I wore them under my regular running shorts so nobody had to stifle their gag reflex as I ran by.

A word about running equipment. When I started running I had no idea how much technology goes into shoes, shirts, shorts, jackets and the assorted paraphenalia of the sport. My CoolMax gear wicks away the sweat, keeping me dry. The shoes are designed to prevent foot fatigue and injury and the tights keep my inner thighs from rubbing together, preventing chafing and the occasional forest fire.

Now if I can just find one of those beanie hats with the propeller on it, maybe I can lighten the load enough to stretch my run to 10k.

I'm back from the hospital, with mixed feelings. I had my bloodwork done, as well as an ECG (electrocardiogram). I had to take my shirt off in front of a rather attractive lab tech, and the mirror still isn't particularly kind. I was uncomfortable to say the least. But, my heart is still pumping well enough, and she only took enough hair off my chest removing the contact strips to clothe a smallish child. On the bright side, I've lost weight (not as much as hoped, down to 243lbs) and I'm starting to get the inevitable "Hey skinny" greeting from my friends and coworkers. I take this with a grain of salt (ooh, salt would taste so good right now) since they know me as the 270 pound walking salt lick I was three months ago.

Blood sugar this morning was 6.2, feeling good, looking forward to grazing in the backyard for lunch today. Moo. Do I sound bitter about eating healthy? Whoever describes the good times as "the salad days" should be drawn and quartered. Then shot.

Remember, you can contribute to my campaign at www.teamdiabetes.ca

Gotta run.

This is my first ever blog entry, making it a very exciting time for me. I am composing a message that could be seen by at least, oh, 7 or 8 people worldwide! As I nervously stroke the keys, I'm reminded of an episode of "Pigs in Space" from the Muppet Show. Mainly because the mirror still isn't particularly kind, and I could really go for some bacon right about now.

For those of you who don't know the story of "The Fat Guy Goes To Rome", here's a brief synopsis . . .

April 10: Lab work done at local hospital
April 20 (10:30 AM): Doctor appointment - lab results show that I am actually dead, I just don't know it. Fasting blood sugar is 16, blood pressure, cholesterol and trigliceride counts are high enough to make a pharmaceutical executive finally put that down payment on a beach house in Maui.
April 20 (11:00AM): Decide to save my life insurance company several hundred thousand dollars by getting healthy.
April 20 (Noon): First of many, many tasteless and unappealing meals.
April 24: Voluntary weigh-in at hospital - 265lbs. I know I've already lost the 5 lbs of water that comes first, so let's just say the starting point was around the 270 mark.

Sometime after this my friend Terry invites me on a little run. I inform him that I only run when being chased by large carnivores, but he is rather persistent. He says it's a marathon. I laugh. He doesn't. He's serious. Long story short, it's a marathon in Rome (Italy? Yes. Really? Yes) with Team Diabetes Canada. Simply raise $6100 to fund research, and they'll fly you to Rome, put you up for a few nights and let you beat the crap out of your body for fun. Naturally I agree.

May 20ish (I can't remember the exact date - brain obviously starved of oxygen) Go for first run. Can stride effortlessly from one streetlight to another. Then walk home. Must be the shoes. Feet hurt. Nipples chafed.

May 29: First consultation with dietician. She says I can eat grass and cardboard only - or so it seems. But the scale says 249lbs, so confidence is high. My diet is on track.

Cut to TODAY, June 25th. Race day is March 18 2007, and I am getting the notion that I may actually be ready by then. This morning, for the second consecutive time, I ran continuously for 7 kilometers! It took me around 52 minutes and I didn't cough up a lung. I'm even starting to understand the ridiculous notion of the "runner's high" which I always thought had something to do with the old left-handed lettuce.

Tomorrow I go back to the hospital for lab work again, see the dietician and weigh in. I'm in the midst of fasting for the blood sugar test. I'm actually glad - cardboard gives me heartburn.