I haven’t had a french fry or ham and eggs since August. In fact, I haven’t had any fried foods. My doc was concerned about my cholesterol level and had me try the DASH diet to bring it down. My “bad” cholesterol was 150 and he wants it under 100. Two months of fruits and veggies has brought it down to 130. So, no pills for now. I’m vain enough that this might be easier if I was trying to lose weight but I’m 160 pounds. I might actually kill someone for a Sonic chilli-cheese dog.

Without any fried food, as a matter of fact. The new diet is no great strain, at least in terms of what I don’t eat. I’m not up to the 30 pieces of fruit a day called for (maybe it’s eight) but I’ll get there. My desk is littered with bagels and trail mix and those little carrot nubby things.

That’s the name of my new cholesterol-lowering diet. It’s just a short walk to becoming a full-fledged vegetarian. The booklet says I should think of meat as a condiment rather than an entree. Can I give up Barb’s good burgers? I don’t know. With a few such exceptions, food is little more than fuel for me so I’m not really giving up much. Of the seven risk factors for heart attack, I have three. I’m over 50. I’m male. And my cholesterol is high. I’ll consider going trans-gender if I can’t stick to the new diet. Stay tuned.

“At 7:30 am I arrive from cataract surgery. At 8:15 they are done. The prep takes longer than the 7 minute operation where they put a suck out my old lens, put in a new one perfectly matched to my site — like a little internal contact lens — to give me 20/20 vision.” [Halley’s Comment]

I started working out with a trainer two years ago this month. My greatest extravagance and one with which I’m still a little uncomfortable. The lady is a sadist and quite willing to keep me doing crunches until I’m making pathetic little whimpering noises. But I’ve never felt better. I’m still a scrawny, middle-aged white guy but after 35 years at 155 pounds (6 feet), I’ve gained ten pounds of muscle mass. I view all this as my best investment. I’ll be able to do 100 push-ups while waiting for the OATS bus.

I started an excercise program about 14 months ago. Membership at fitness center, personal trainer, the whole deal. I can do 50 pretty good push-ups now and feel great. Last week Traci (the trainer) suggested I let them do a series of tests to determine my physical age (compared to my chronological age). The clock says I’m 54 and I slid in at a cool 48. And, if I’m willing to live like Lance Armstrong, I can take that down to about 30. Call me skeptical. I think we’ll shoot for 45.