That would make Ian “Bono”

…which is certainly reasonable.

Tell me these aren’t the same four folks:

 

You never see them at the same parties.

…who, me? I saw the doctor this week – I needed to get biometric numbers for “wellness” to reduce my insurance payments for work. I told Park City Round Valley Clinic “biometrics numbers for my insurance” – they heard “annual physical”. Which was a bit strange, since I’d already had an annual physical this year. But there’s no doubt that I’ve got some health – or, at least, fitness – issues, so I’m willing to get checked out again.

After the other parts of the checkup (“turn and cough. Bend over and grab”) Dr Herb allowed as to how I might be asthmatic, and – after having me blow very hard and very long into a gadget three times – sent me home with a new inhaler. I’m supposed to use this twice each morning, and evening, for a month, and then come back and blow into the gadget again to see if it helped.

Of course, I’ll go back and blow into the gadget, but what I want to see is my running pace go down and my endurance go up.

Dr Herb agreed, reluctantly, with my recently-formed conclusion  that the only real fix for my fitness woes is to die, and get a new body when I reincarnate. I will tell you this, right now – next time, I’m going to drive a harder bargain. No short, short-legged, bald mesomorph body for me.

I’m also taking Sporanox, for toenail fungus. High-mileage training caused me to lose my big toenails many years ago, and when they grew back in, they grew back in a quarter-inch thick and discolored. I’ve also got one thumbnail that is the same way – it’s the right thumbnail, which I’ve always used when finger-picking my gitfiddle. This should solve those issues over the next few months.

The reason that I care at all is that I am now barefoot in the close company of other folks frequently, as we have a yoga class at work, and there’s no reason to gross anybody else out. The thing that’s more surprising than “Jim’s fixing his toenails” is “Jim’s in a yoga class”. Yep, and I’m eating sushi and watched the PAC-12 Championship Game. I’m half foofoo, almost. (or is that spelled “fufu”?)

When I asked Dr Herb about Lamisil (the Sporanox equivalent) he said, “Sure, I can give you that, if you don’t mind killing your liver”. I said “Doc, my liver lived through years of 151 Bacardi with Sugar Free Dr Pepper chasers”. He wrote the prescription.