Doctor P took one look at me, looked at his computer screen, and then looked back up at me.<\/p>\n

“You are amazingly fat,” he said.<\/p>\n

Susan says those weren’t his exact words, and that sometimes I remember what I think people meant instead of what they said. So maybe that’s not exactly what he said, but in my head, that’s what I heard.<\/p>\n

It continued. For an eternity, it continued. <\/p>\n

“So, what do you think about my knee?” I asked.<\/p>\n

“I think it hurts because you’re fat,” he continued. “Have you ever tried to lose weight?”<\/p>\n

Asking an overweight person if they have ever tried losing weight is like asking them if they’ve ever added chocolate to anything, pilfered items from their kid’s trick or treat bag, or eaten their dessert first.<\/p>\n

“What do you have for breakfast each morning?” he continued.<\/p>\n

“A large sugar-free vanilla iced coffee and a breakfast burrito from McDonald’s,” I replied. Sometimes I have two, but I told him one.<\/p>\n

Doctor P smirked. “Come on,” he said. “You think one breakfast burrito and one coffee is keeping you that size? How much do you exercise each week?”<\/p>\n

“A little,” I exaggerated. <\/p>\n

Doctor P took another look at his computer screen and then returned his focus to my fatness.<\/p>\n

“Do you know how much you weigh?” he asked.<\/p>\n

I know how much I weigh. Not only do I weigh every morning, but I just did it in the hallway, outside this room. The nurse was polite enough to not act as if I was the biggest person she had weighed all morning.<\/p>\n

“Yes, I know how much I weigh,” I responded. “But my knee…” I started.<\/p>\n

“Your knee is not the problem. Your weight is your problem,” he said. <\/p>\n

For the next 20 minutes — or perhaps it was eternity — I listened to diet suggestions and exercise suggestions. <\/p>\n

“I like walking,” I offered. <\/p>\n

Technically Dr. P didn’t roll his eyes at me, but in my version of events, he did. For the next five minutes, he explained to me how short bursts of high intensity training is actually better than 30 minutes of walking. I’m sure it is. <\/p>\n

“How many times a week do you walk?”<\/p>\n

I thought. There was that time back in April…<\/p>\n

“At least three times a week,” I responded.<\/p>\n

This time, he really did roll his eyes.<\/p>\n

As Dr. P explained the benefits of exercise and weight loss, it hit me: this was the conversation I’ve been dreading all my life. My mind picked out key words like “diabetes” and “blood pressure” and “life span” but I wasn’t really paying attention to what he said. All I could think about was how could I have ended up here? How could I have let this happen? <\/p>\n

The signs have been there forever. No longer being able to buy clothes at Walmart. Constantly complaining about shirts “shrinking” when in fact it was me, growing. Constantly dealing with back\/hip\/knee pain. Complaining about new cars being “too small.” No longer fitting in airline seats (or, at a minimum, carrying a seatbelt extended with me). The eating of the sweet snacks between the bigger snacks between the meals. The snowcones, the ice cream, the cake, the chips, the dips, the salty and the sweet, they all caught up to me right there in Dr. P’s office.<\/p>\n

…<\/p>\n

So… what were you hoping for? Another blog post promising to eat less and exercise more? As I told Mason before every basketball game, talk’s cheap — actions matter. Yoda nailed it: “Do, or do not — there is no try.” I don’t need Dr. P to tell me again. It’s time to get healthy or die trying. <\/p>\n

For what it’s worth, I completely forgot about my knee.<\/p>\n