Fatty Update: Lesson in Pride

In my zeal to become the Biggest Loser, MusicCityFatties-style, I have been back in the gym and eating trying to eat right for the past two weeks. That's right, we are now entering week 3 and my competition is fierce. Well, I have a confession to make ... I am not think as you fit I am! Strike that ... reverse ... I am not as fit as you think I am. Here's the real scoop ... in what has become a lesson in pride:

I had a scare a few weeks ago. In-laws in town. Stressed out. (Not because of in-laws, but because of overload of work.) Started to have pain in right side of my chest. No radiating pain, but constant. Scared poop out of me. Called Dr.Corazon (... that's spanish for "heart" you English-only proponents ... ), who ordered a battery of health tests, including a RadioactiveIrateExam.

Well, I had my exam last week, which went something like this. Me, old dude, older dude, fatter older dude, and almost dead dude sitting in the waiting room. They had more pace-makers, stents, canes, and nitro pills than a medical supply store. They saw this Fatty (a young 27 37, vibrant, good-looking male ... yes, me ...) and wondered why I was there. I gave them the scoop and they gave me the reverse scoop (as in, what to expect). When I entered the exam room, I saw my opponent (see below).


Herein you will find my lesson in pride. The exam went something like this:

Nurse HowdyY'All: Are you ready? The treadmill will increase in speed and incline every three minutes. When you reach a point where you think you can only continue 1 minute, let me know and I will give you last injection of nuclear gunk.

Self: Are you looking for a target heartbeat?

Nurse HowdyY'All: No. Just keep going until you hit that 1 minute point.

Self: Are you sure? That could take a long time. I mean, I could go 45 minutes or so.

Nurse HowdyY'All: (... Laughs out loud...) Don't worry about that, the treadmill always wins!

I really don't need to continue this post, because you probably already figured out the ending. Around minute 11, a tired and broken and sweating Fatty named Self, with arms holding on for dear life, screamed, "One minute!"

The good news, everything is okay and I passed the stress test. Also, the pain in the chest was attributed to pleurisy. The bad news, my ego was momentarily bruised (for about 2 minutes).