I was so proud of the weight-loss. It was a project that I’ve worked on diligently for years. Eating more vegetables and swearing off of meat took some time, but the lifestyle had finally hit home. It took great discipline to push aside the plates and give up the burgers. Perhaps I slipped a time or two, but eating had become a discipline. I have always been a bit of a stress eater, and my work is all about stress. So, if I had slipped – it was with soda, iced tea, and ridiculous snacking at work – where I never seem to get a proper lunch break. The pounds were shedding fast as the summer wore on. It was amazing. Why now? Why has all of the hard work finally paid off. And I wasn’t even exercising.
Mirrors can be deceiving. I hate looking into them. They tell me the unvarnished truth about aging that I never really want to believe. When I think of myself, I have visions of that young kid who was always posing for pictures. Forearms the size of twigs. Too skinny and wondering when the weight would come on. It took years of watching the face melt, the hair fall out, and the worry-lines grow to learn the art of mirror avoidance. I would look into a mirror and never make eye contact. It was less personal then. That wasn’t me. I took notice of my weight loss this summer. My eyes starting moving up the mirror. I was reconnecting with my former self.
The summer was filled with stress. A new showroom. A lot of pressure. No tennis because my bum shoulder was making it impossible. The summer seemed to rush by without a moment to pause and soak in the sun. Saturdays were now business days. The rest of the world was basking in the glow of a sun that I wasn’t seeing. It was only in the reflected tanned faces of my many clients that I realized that the summer was slipping away and fall would be barking at my heels. I hate the winter. The snow days of my youth were great for missing school and sledding down the neighbor’s hill. Winter as an adult is more of a pain in the ass. Expensive holidays, bothersome weather, and a perpetually runny nose make me dream of the summer to come – which I seemed to miss out on last summer. I have always looked at the winter as a time-out from summer. It was like a punishment for being too happy in the sun.
I never know what to wear for work. Too casual or too formal. Too hot or too cold. White in winter? Belts, shoes, and whatever else to match? I have had a lot of clothes in my day, but I never seem to be comfortable in any of it. My pants were starting to fall. I was swimming in a sea of shirt, pant, and belt that wouldn’t cinch. I felt like that skinny kid again. The rubberband man with the athlete’s body. He was great at finding the game or sport and working it until he got good. He would out hustle the competition. The hardest worker on the court. But this time, it was a miracle how I was shedding the pounds, and didn’t have work that hard to do it. Sure, I was working harder than ever in my job, but losing weight used to mean working out and eating less. Now, it was as if the gods were conspiring for a bit of luck to come my way. I was getting young again.
Getting up every night became a ritual. Sleep was hard to come by. I had visions of adjustable beds and problem clients buzzing in and out of my dreams. It isn’t that interesting for a guy that used to dream about beaches and running in slow motion in the surf while saving lives. I was getting up multiple times at night to pee. How could this be? That is an old man’s disorder. Don’t they know that I’m getting younger? Each morning I would wake up so dry. Drinking water like I remembered. As a kid, I used to hang my head below the faucet and drink water until it was coming out of my gills. I always assumed that it was one of the reasons that I was so skinny. No room for food when you are water-logged. Maybe this is why I was seeing my toes again and standing taller. I was shrinking. I was well-known to be the size of a “shrunk” as my mother would say. Now, it was as if the real me was emerging as the ice cap was melting. I looked into the mirror in early September and hoped that it would stop. The compliments from friends and strangers weren’t enough. The truth behind the results were that the results didn’t make sense. I was starting to get concerned. I have two things that make me leap out of my skin – sharks and cancer. My work worries were now being compounded because I was starting to worry about cancer. Sharks are really just glorified fish and I don’t really need to be where they are. Cancer lives in the shadows within. It is far scarier.
Under the mask of my contented gaze into the mirror, a voice was growing. “You don’t get something for nothing in this world”. I know this better than anyone as I try to convince each client of the merits of spending twice the normal rate for a bed. Each day – I must list the features and benefits to countless would-be clients. I see the face of disappointment when I lay out the price to someone who can’t afford the product. If you want the best, it will cost you. I feel for those that would benefit from it but can’t afford it.. If I could give the relief away for free, I would. It is a tough society that puts a price on relief. I started looking in the mirror and wondering what price I was paying to see my cheekbones again, to lose my chin, and start to see the faint hint of a rib for the first time in years. I was never fat. I was just big. Hot, sweaty, and big. A bundle of stress and nerves, and Pop Tarts. A great athlete who forgot what it was like to be exhausted from exercise and not the daily grind of the work day.
I took in all the compliments. “Amazing. Wow. You are really looking good.” It feels good to hear that again. I used to hear it a lot when I was younger. I think that everyone hits that point in life when those words start to fade and people act like you should be happy that you are still kicking. People were going to the picture books and saying – “Look at how handsome you were”. That never feels great because I don’t live in the ‘were’ anymore and each day when I brush my teeth, I have to look in the mirror – below my chin. I had heard enough. The fruit that was being picked here was not earned. It felt like stealing an apple from a neighbor’s tree. I didn’t deserve the accolades because I know that the ride is long. In my life, I had only lost weight in a dramatic fashion once before and it was because of heartbreak. This time – heartbreak wasn’t the culprit. I have never felt so ‘in-love’ and loved at the same time. My stress was only the anxiety that comes from self-imposed pressure to succeed at work. My personal life has never been so complete and thoroughly satisfying. I started to worry mostly because I feared that I would impose on my personal life by being sick. It was becoming obsessive. I was quietly churning up inside because I was thinking the worst about a now that had never been this good. I looked in the mirror one last time and had to acknowledge that seeing myself as a teen was scary. Something was wrong. While I miss that guy’s body, I don’t miss his angst and worry and self-conscious ways – I have grown into myself and become more confident, talkative, interesting, and most of all, happy. The guy that I was seeing in the mirror was starting to look unhealthy and pathetic. Like a guy wearing clothing that was too youthful for his age. Or a guy trying to pretend that he doesn’t have a concern in the world when the truth is staring at him in the face. I was afraid to tell my wife. I know that she was holding out hope that it was just the healthy lifestyle that was kicking in. But I knew my body, and how hard it resisted change while exercising obsessively in my 30’s. I wasn’t earning this. It was time to pay the piper. It was time for the guy in the mirror to speak. So, I went to the doctor.
Sitting alone in my showroom at work thinking about my blood test results was tough. My mind was racing as I was selling relief to the people that came into the place. I wasn’t feeling relief. With every drink of water and each moment that I felt my energy draining, the only one in that showroom not getting relief was me. He called. “Everything is fine with your blood…well, except one thing – you have Diabetes.” Oh, ok. Diabetes means that I’m going to die, right? What did I know about Diabetes? Bobby Clarke and Mary Tyler Moore have it. She’s dead. I think. Or maybe she isn’t. I was speechless. I didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t on my radar. I locked the door of my showroom and stood in front of the mirror on the side and cried. It was a cry for that young man who worried so much and had so much promise – and now had to confront the problems of adulthood square on. I saw a glimpse of that kid, but now my gaze into the mirror was an affirmation that you don’t get anything for free. Seeing him again was a warning. A great sign that slipping back to him was a warning about remaining true to myself. Being the “me” that I am now.
Being pricked in the fingertips countless times starts to whittle away at your nerve endings. At first, checking my glucose levels was an imposition. Now, it is an unnerving part of my day – three times a day. With every prick of my finger, I feel like I lose a bit of myself as the days pass with a new reality. But feeling sorry for myself is an old paradigm. This is a new day. Like living in center city, your life can be defined by the little inconveniences and nuisances of the daily grind. Or you can remember the bigger picture. The rich life that every day contains. The balance shifts to the positives rather than the petty inconveniences. So, I decided almost instantly that my diabetes would be reversed. I don’t even know if that is scientifically possible. It would require my most disciplined self. And it would require a sacrifice of those things that I hold dear – like a baguette and Brie. Oh, how I miss that. I was going to remind my pancreas to perform. My body was confused and it was time to help it to remember.
So, it is March. I’m a half-year old as a Type 2 - Diabetic. My wife has made this easier than it would be for anyone else. Her selfless actions and sacrifice remind me that I’m luckier than most with this diagnosis. I’m not overweight or eating at McDonalds. My ridiculous past of eating like a 13 year old left a long time ago. But, each day as I prick my finger and forgo the things that I loved to eat – I’m reminded that I’m not in a quest to recapture the image of the boy in the reflection. I need to look in the mirror and remember all that I’ve become. All of those things that I’m lucky to have created in my life. Or maybe better yet, all of those things that are yet to come. I will one day look back at October 2010 knowing that it showed off what was really coursing around in my veins. It was more than just high glucose levels – it was the spirit to tackle the future and to discipline myself enough that the major goals can be realized. It was a wake up call. A reminder that aging is in the mind and it is time to embrace the real me. It is time to look in the mirror and stare directly into my own eyes. This is the moment to see who I really am and what I’m made of. The hardest working guy on the basketball court still exists – only this time – the game is being played in a more important venue.
