What a dumb thing to do the day before my birthday. It had to be done before my doctor's appointment next week, but still ...
Who the hell has a body fat analysis done one day before they hit the earliest harbinger of middle age?
Me, I guess.
Let's just say it's a dirty number. It came with a dirty blood pressure reading, and a dirty cholesterol number is probably in the works, too. There was nothing pretty about this testing event.
Not the fasting. (NO caffeine)
Not the hours. (I was up at 5:30 this morning, because I also decided that my first really early morning of my new job description would pair well with decaffeinated misery)
Certainly not the needle. (Seriously, guys, it's the 21st Century and we can get a temperature from a wand that kind of just glances at our foreheads ... can't we figure out a needle-less way to test my blood?)
I am old. And fat. And quite unhealthy.
And I finally know it, on the eve of turning 35.
I almost feel bad about the wine I intend to drink this weekend.
