confessions of a poptart addict

I started keeping a food diary last week. No worries, I have no plans to bore the public with the sad confessions of a poptart addict - well, let's just say that I won't post my eating failures here. Counting calories is almost as much fun as filling out an income tax return.

I never pictured myself as turning into a middle-aged gym rat who pays attention to the nutritional value of goji berries and white tea. And I am not nearly there yet. But all of this hospital time spent with relatives who are diabetic, heavily prescription drugged, and otherwise malady-laden has made me reconsider my leisurely life of body neglect. In other words, I'm overweight. Some days I eat like a teenager. Some evenings I can drink like a fish.

I don't want high cholesterol and I don't want to take prescription drugs. At 47, I have to admit that health does not come as easily as it did when I was 27, or even 37.

There you have it - the boring part of my daily life as it is now. But we went to a Lou Reed concert last week and I stood fairly easily the entire evening. I felt fine the next morning. And there's a whole lot of shows I would be happy to dance at all night, as long as my body continues to hold up.

Plus, Lou Reed is 66 and, judging from his biceps, lifted a few weights himself before this tour.

If ex-junkie hipsters can do it, so can I.

NTD