Papa hadn’t “had” a vegetable in months (this is how he put it, as if vegetables were something you caught or were afflicted with, like having a headache or the flu). His stomach had turned into…well…let’s put it this way, rabbits are hard to tell apart, so he was often queried on “how far along are you?” Or, “boy or girl?” He thought hosing down his *riding* lawnmower was considered exercise.
Mama Rabbit would try to bulk up his “candied” pellets with baby carrots and thinly sliced iceberg lettuce; Papa would pick them out and feed them to the hamster.
Papa would get winded…wheezing and wailing loud enough to attract coyotes…just walking out to get the mail.
So…it should have been no surprise that Papa’s Biometric Screening down at the hatchery came back with a “real age” nine years above his real age.
Papa still refused to go get a full check up, only acquiescing after a terrible chest pain, that went away after a two hour nap (turns out, it was the result of particularly fatty meal of fileted pellets, beer battered and doused in a rich butter and garlic Hollandaise sauce).
Papa saw it coming from a mile away: “honey, I made you an appointment to see Dr. Leporidae,” Mama informed him. Papa put up no fight, accepted this, and thanked Mama.
Dr. Leporidae gave Papa a good once over, and his feedback was as follows: “you bodyfat is roughly one million percent, your blood pressure looks like a math question from a college entrance exam, and your cholesterol numbers suggest you have mayonnaise instead of blood coursing thru your veins.” Papa thanked Dr. Leporidae for giving it to him straight: “thanks for giving it to me straight, Doc.”
Papa went home, and threw out the candied pellets: and the candied pellets stashed in the garage, and the candied pellets stashed in the glovebox, and the ones stashed in the night stand. He then Googled “gyms near me”, and the two closest were Crunch and Planet Fitness. Papa did a detailed and technical analysis, and determined that based on his wants and desires, Crunch offered “better value and support for the serious lifter” (a review given by Unklebuck73 on Reddit, who seemed to be a particularly serious…and articulate…lifter).
Papa was down one full pound after just one week. He noticed his britches fit slightly *less* snug; Papa’s shirts had slightly *more* room. Papa was able to do two more pushups. These small gains made Papa feel good. This was the wake up call he needed. Papa felt blessed. It’s one of those things, sometimes you don’t realize that you’re struggling until you make a change and realize how much better you feel. Papa had more energy throughout the day; a certain je ne sais quoi.
The family athlete was Fignewton. Fignewton was on the track team. “Hey pop, you ready?” Fignewton asked. “You bet,” Papa said. They headed out the door for their daily, father/son jog.