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What Doesn’t Kill You

So I woke up Sunday feeling completely gross after a week of the worst diet known to man or beast (to say nothing of a few months of winter’s dark, dark apathy). I made a point to spend a few minutes lifting heavy things. Of course, I expected to be weak after such a long period of neglect, and true to expectations, I found myself a sore and sad little slip of a thing who quit much too early to have done much good.

Monday found me hurting a little, but it was a good kind of hurt, so I was happy with it. Tuesday, I was going to lift again, but I was still kind of feeling it, and I wanted to give my muscles a chance to recover a bit more. Fortunately though, when I got out of work, the sun was still hanging beautifully bright and low in the sky. It was still day (more or less) (yea!). This called for a nice long walk.

Here’s the thing though, once I started moving vigorously, the soreness in my chest magically transformed into a heart attack. I kept telling my inner hypochondriac that what I was feeling was just remaining soreness from lifting, and my inner hypochondriac resolutely refused to even consider that possibility. It was a heart attack pure and simple.

So there I was, determined not to stop even though I knew on some deep inner level that I was walking through death’s very door. What could I do? I started trying to walk in such a way that I wasn’t stretching or tweaking my chest muscles. I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried that, but let me just say for the record that it is almost exactly impossible. I’m sure it makes you look pretty silly too although frankly that was the least of my concerns what with breathing my last breath and all.

At one point, I heard a siren going past, and my fevered brain filled in the gaps with a fantasy in which I was being rushed to the hospital, and my current state of awareness was just a fantasy as my oxygen starved brain tried to relive the circumstances that brought me to my unfortunate end.

I managed to finish off my walk. Now if I could just find some way to do the same with that part of my mind that invents diseases and crap like that. I bet an ice pick would do it, but I have a sneaking suspicion that, that particular cure might be a little worse than the disease. Maybe pills.

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