Health. We are all born with it — some with good health, some with bad health, but health, none the less. Some of us were blessed with good health at birth, and due to living the American Dream (hot dogs, ice cream, potato chips, and reruns), are now blessed more than ever before — but, with additional pounds, high cholesterol, and even higher blood pressure.

There is an old joke about two seasoned gentlemen sitting on a park bench. One is complaining about his aches and pains, bunions and hemorrhoids, and a litany of unusual gastronomical afflictions. The other one turns to him and says, “Yes, but at least you have your health.”

I am that first old geezer, wheezing about everything that is falling apart on me. Except, I am sitting in a restaurant ordering prime rib dripping in au jus, with a loaded baked potato – probably followed by a honkin’ big slice of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.

My good friend, Mike, is the second old geezer in the story. For quite a few years, Mike was the poster boy for over-working, over-living and under-maintaining. He is a large, gregarious man who once worked hard all day as a skilled labor fabricator, creating parts to tolerances of thousandths of an inch and, on the weekends, was my favorite prime rib partner. We considered ourselves experts on the subject matter and would research any and all restaurants that served that flavor-filled, fat-laden, cut of exceptional beef tenderness. We would devour our meals, offer up our critiques, and then slip into a food coma.

However, the rigors of more than a quarter of a century of factory work and semi-professional competitive eating took its toll. Mike became the poster boy for knee braces, pain relievers, and bionic parts (I’ve heard the value of Zimmer Biomet stock is directly connected to Mike’s current state of health).

That was, until almost a year ago. Mike got the wake-up call — the call that too many of us get too late — the call that says, “This is it, Big Guy. What are ya’ gonna’ do about it?” Mike answered the call and gave the right answer.

He did not answer the call with a half-hearted promise to “try” to take better care of himself. He answered with a shout. He took classes and learned the science behind healthy eating — how to build a meal based on food groups, carbs, calories and all the things I usually (always) ignore. He began exercising by walking — starting out as a brisk stroll along the Riverfront Trail, building to more than three miles, every day. I mean every day — even in the depths of near zero degree winter, dressed in Carhardt bibs and long johns, Mike trudges that trail.

Mike may have answered that call with a shout, but unlike many people who have a life-changing event, Mike did not openly broadcast his new-found lifestyle and health path. He just started doing it — and quietly kept doing it. One afternoon, he and I were in my garage, discussing life, and making sure we were keeping the Earth rotating on its axis when I sensed he looked a little “different.” That was when he told me about the wake-up call and that he had lost his first 40 pounds.

Without Mike’s permission, I would love to be able to tell you that Mike has currently lost 75 pounds and is well on his way to reaching his goal of losing 100 pounds at the end of his first 12 months of diet and exercise – except, I don’t have his permission, so I won’t tell you that.

Mike shamed me. That shame gave me my own wake-up call — but, I let it go to voice-mail, first.

Now, I eat a little better and I began walking semi-regularly with him. We can usually get in a three-mile walk in under an hour. But, I’m not as dedicated as Mike. Sometimes, I have to stop and admire the many benches that line the Riverfront Trail. Sometimes, I don’t get the full three miles in. Sometimes, I have other things going on and can’t keep up with Mike’s dedication — like today, when I told him I couldn’t walk because I wanted to get this piece written.

 

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.