Yesterday, I had my three-month followup appointment. Long-story-short, we're going to stay the course on the muscle relaxers and my doctor would like me to exercise more. She actually said that exercise and moving around is the best way to feel better and "I'm so glad you see this, because too many people don't."
It isn't that I see it that way, I just want to exercise because I can't lose weight unless I exercise. That I know. I don't ever expect to be a size 12 again and I don't ever expect to walk four miles a day, but I'd like to be closer to both of those numbers.
The good news for exercise is that this weekend is opening weekend at the Bristol Renaissance Faire in Kenosha, WI. And I've got a season pass. So, every Saturday and Sunday between now and Labor Day (that's September 5th to my non-celebrating friends), I'll be walking my fat ass around the faire.
Speaking of my fat ass, why do people take offense if someone calls themselves fat? I mean, especially if its true? I'm not thin. I know how much I weigh. I know what I look like. I'm not deluding myself in that I'm not overweight. I know how big I am. I'm wearing a size 24 in jeans. Sure, they're loose, but that would still put me at size 22. That's huge, people. I'm fat and I know it. Don't feel bad for me, it isn't your fault I'm fat. Of course, it isn't squarely my fault either, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm fat. I'm not chubby. I'm not "pleasantly plump". I'm fat. Let's move on.
Yesterday at the VA hospital in Madison, Wisconsin, I had to park in a car park on the opposite side of the hospital. They had a door right there to enter the hospital, but little else to guide a person back to the part of the hospital that looked familiar. I followed the signs for the UW hospital because I knew I'd eventually reach something that looked familiar. I did, after I trekked from one end of the VA hospital to the other- I ended up in radiology, which is the set of elevators I needed. Then I had to walk all the way back to the central elevators- which, I learned yesterday, were where I could have gone to go up the one floor as opposed to walking all the way down to where I did. But that's a moot point now. After I went to that office I have to go to before every visit, I had to go all the way back down to the elevators I'd just left to go up to the sixth floor Rheumatology clinic.
Surprisingly, I wasn't curled up on the floor in the waiting room when they called me back to the exam room. I actually felt pretty good. That gives me hope for this weekend at Faire.
And making it back to the car park wasn't even an issue. No, the issue came after I left the hospital. Turns out the street I take to get the hell out of Madison- actually, the street I take to get me to the street that I take to get the hell out of Madison was completely torn up with construction. I was zig-zagging through construction equipment and blockades like an Olympic skier during finals.
So, I did what anyone would do in that situation. I took photos. What? You wouldn't do that? Weird...
And I get past all that construction... I turn right onto Park. I get a couple blocks down...
TRAFFIC!
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