Of all the things that could have gone wrong in my annual health report, my lipid profile was the last suspect. On a scale of 1-10, 1 being "coat-hanger" and 10 a "binge-eating walrus", my build has been consistently categorized as 1.7 "Scarecrow". Yet when I visited my doctor to collect my report he gave me that ugly look. Like my arteries are crude oil pipelines. Like there's probably enough fat in there to make two bars of soap. He assumed a haughty look and said "Without even asking you, I can tell you that you don't do any exercise". That's not the first time I've been picked on by a doctor, but coming as it did on a week in which I had played Basketball, Badminton, and football, had cycled to office twice and done a bit of rock-climbing, I had no option but to politely ask him to take back his words and put it in another place. He clarified that he has nothing personal against me but 240 is tad too high. I have no idea what that number meant at that time, but I was pretty disillusioned.
Life has changed significantly. I am avoiding beer. I close my eyes and turn the rosary beads vigorously when I smell menasinakaayi bajji. But not everything has been bad. I have an excuse not to eat out. My knowledge of wines has expanded and French fries tempt me no more. The best outcome, though, has been that I feel really guilty when I haven't exercised at all in a day. It's an awesome pressure to have.