Eye of the [Fat] Tiger

well today was my first day of rehab. it was.... not what i expected it to be. i kinda figured it would be more massage type things at this stage, and more simple flexibility/ agility tests than it was. no. it was... [drum roll] paperwork! yes, not only is this an insurance gimmick, but somehow im supposed to self ascribe my own plan of rehab. they "consult" with that. the nutritionist person asked me a bunch of questions; then gave me some paper work, then tried that "consultive" horse shit with me. don't horse shit a horse i say. my plan? "i think i should eat more fatty meats... maybe even salt cured meats. i think with some prosciutto in my veins, and 3 kg's of roast beef and cheese three times per day; i will be the model of American fitness." she was so pissed she didn't even laugh. pity. i was reminded that with my height and weight, given my age, i am a minimum of 50 pounds over weight. she let that sit before i came up with something else smart to say. she also hammered me some more on my limited physical activity and agility scores. however; does anyone who has ever met me, confuse me with a marathon runner? i reminded her that with a surgically repaired knee, with birth defected foot and gait impairment, and a disdain of sweating in public; i was about a good as it gets. although, we did talk about how much better shape i had been in at different points in my life. regardless, 50 pounds is a lot. that stung a bit. im not real sure about whats going to happen with that. they went on and on lecturing me about swimming as a zero-impact method to exercise; i reminded them of my morbid phobia of being in open water. they mentioned biking, i mentioned uncomfortable seats and gay helmets. they went with working me to jogging and jump rope activities; i said i shouldn't turn into Rocky III's training sequence. after that it was quiet, and the gate keeper let me pass. and like moses at the top of mount nebo, i saw the greener pastures of the land of milk and honey. it was tan, it was mostly fit what i was concerned, and it was blonde. we call her emily. and she made me stop and pay attention. not the kind i should have. see, she gets the unfortunate distinction of me, as a patient. one whom she has to demonstrate odd body posture exercises to; and one who has to get touchy feely with the man of fat and anger himself. im sure tonight, she questions the wisdom of being licensed in pt, or rejects the manipulative hands of god to force her here. i tried really hard not to smile. i tried really hard not to get too excited. if you know what i mean. i tried and failed to certain degrees. what i can say is it was quite clear she had no interest in me removing any clothing, that much was clear. i think i even saw it on her face how degrading it must feel to make like a table dancer for me; knowing i enjoyed it. in all honesty though; she was ... quite beautiful. i really did try my best to not to make her uncomfortable about it. me, being the one on drugs, with back pain, was working overtime making sure someone else was not uncomfortable. i was a bit off too. she took my history, which i expected, for the third time in the day, but also slipped in a few questions i hadn't anticipated.... what high school i went to, where i was from, if i went to college, and if i was married, or dating anyone. the last one really caught me off guard. im sure there is a sound medical reason why. thinking back to my cyst time of fun; they did ask me that as well... it was to see if anyone could repack my dressing for me. [of course not, and what fun that was to do by myself, behind my back]. but i didn't capitalize on it. i should have. all the smart shit comments i had made to that point in the day, i sat pretty quiet and looked straight ahead. and gave her a plain, "no. there isn't anyone like that." she did make a mild amount of eye contact. i found that interesting too. some people are like that. but she did lock right on me when i gave her the drugs and dosages im on, both branded and generics; and could name most of the muscle groups she was targeting in the stretching exercises we did later. enough so that she stopped me at one point and clarified where i worked and what i did for a living. she got the stock answer. "i sell toilet seats to people in trailer parks." she didnt ask me any more questions then. but thats how glamorous i am. i have no life outside of this shitty job. i get diseases, and tear out muscles working it. and now, im accused of being morbidly obese per my BMI score. i am a prize to be had, aren't i? maybe going the way of Rocky III wouldn't be so bad. i do know that heart disease runs on my fathers side of the family. i really not sure about it. for now though, i have 3 more rehab sessions before im released back to the wild. but day 1 is in the can.