My life has become a Boynton Beach Club story
The other night I was watching the movie “Boynton Beach Club.” It's an ‘80s film about seniors living in a senior community, dealing with aging, loss and moving forward—the keyword being moving. The first scene had a man going for his morning walk. He put on his Walkman, did some weird dancing to the music and greeted the others who were also out to get their morning exercise.
As I watched this, I said to myself, and pretty loudly, “FUCK!! This is my life.” It kind of is—except for the part where he gets run over and killed by a car.
I'm kind of new to this dedicated walking thing. I did a lot of it during the pandemic because what else was there to do? But, since then, it's been on and off—with a lot more off.
It sort of began last summer. I have a new primary care doctor and she thought I should have a physical. Fine, no problem—until my blood tests came back with a blood sugar level of 158. She wanted to put me on meds but I said, “How about if we wait a bit? I'll try to exercise more and change my diet. Give me six months to get my shit together?” She laughed and said she liked that. Can you guess who didn't get his shit together?
It was more than six months later and I didn't do any follow-up with my doctor. I had a feeling my blood sugar levels were still high, but I wasn't ready to do anything just yet. But then I noticed my toes were tingling and the nerves on the ball of my foot were hurting.
Neurothopy!
So, I called my doctor, redid the tests and when the results came back with the same blood sugar level and A1C, I accepted the diagnosis.
DIABETES!
My dad had it. Both grandfathers, too. And a bunch of uncles and aunts. The genetics were against me. It just took seven decades to get here.
So, since then I've seen a podiatrist, a nutritionist, a diabetes specialist and my cardiologist. They all said the same thing—WALK!
And so now I walk. I walk around the neighborhood. I walk in parks. I walk to the library and the grocery store. I especially walk at this damn dead mall where there are more walkers than shoppers. One to two miles a day. Every. Single. Day!
Damn, I used to make fun of these people; now I'm one of them.