holding my breath and going naked

I’m writing a little earlier today (during my lunch break) since I will be hitting the gym tonight to tear my legs down (work them with machines and weights, completing squats, lunges, step-ups and other torturous exercises until they feel like jelly), so I won’t have time to check in this evening. I would have worked out this morning, and, in fact, had hoped to ride Nellie up the sickeningly steep canyons in my neighborhood (too dark at 6:30am to ride! Grrrr…). But I had a doctor’s appointment that I almost forgot about. It was with my new pulmonary specialist’s office to undergo my annual breathing test for asthma . Basically, they have you put your mouth on a tube and complete a series of breathing tests to see where you are on the scale of “breathing quite nicely…not breathing, dead.” Apparently, I’m somewhere in the middle, which is why I’m taking fancy medications like Foradil (or as I affectionately call it, “my crack pipe”), Singular and Albuterol (emergency only). I developed asthma at age 34, which, coincidentally, is when I started cycling out here in the smog filled California air. I refuse to stop riding (I breathe this crap anyway, so I figure the benefits of the riding will outweigh the damage caused by the air I and millions of other Angelinos are inhaling. So far, all doctors have agreed with me on this point and haven’t insisted I stay indoors hooked up to an oxygen tank).

So, this breathing test thing is a sore spot for me (see pic below - that isn't me, but that is what the tube thingy looks like). When taking this test, one has to breathe in deeply and blow out as hard and for as long as possible - which, in my case, isn’t very deep or long at all. I can hardly hold my breath under water and, as a prior pulmonary specialist once explained to me, my small bronchial tubes are the issue and not the larger ones. This makes holding my breath damn near impossible under any circumstances. If I skip the hit off my crack pipe in the morning, I can discern a noticeable difference in my ability to breathe at all! So, last thing I want to do is show up at some medical office sans any Foradil in my system and be told to breathe in and out as deeply and as long as possible. The last one I took, well over a year ago (yup, I’m behind schedule), was at an office where the Nazi-nurse-from-hell worked. This woman, a tall statuesque blonde with ample silicon assets and a wide, gummy smile, seemed nice enough at first, but once she got me hooked up to the breathing apparatus, she became a snarling pit bull. Nothing I did was good enough and she was more than happy to tell me so. In the shrillest tone, that bleach blonde yelled, “You’re not working hard enough to get the air out! Harder! Blow! BLOW! Blow, blow, blow!” [The first time I took this test back in 2004 and the nurse then (a nice one) said, “Blow, blow, blow,” I had to resist the urge to crack-wise with, “the last time I heard that, he was waving a $20 bill at me.” I mean, really? “Blow, blow, blow?”] Nazi nurse huffed, she pointed, she planted her hands on both hips and, at one point, slammed her hand down on the desk beside us, startling me, and glared into my eyes as if she meant to murder. That was the one and only time I’ve ever promptly removed medical equipment from on/around my being and snarled, “Look it, you bitch, I’m an adult patient and not a misbehaving child. I’d suggest you back off.” Needless to say, the rest of the test was completed in near silence. That was in 2006. Today, the nurse was wonderful, pleasant and extremely professional. I sailed through the test and hopefully this new pulmonary specialist (new HMO service) won’t insist I go back on Advair, a medication favored by most doctors but one I avoid ever since it gave me the worst case of throat thrush and laryngitis.

That was my morning, and I bet you’re wondering right now why I mention going naked. Yes, it was a cheap attempt to get and maintain your attention. By naked, I mean raw as in raw food - which is what I picked up for breakfast and lunch today after leaving my doctor's office. There is this wonderful all-raw, organic, vegan restaurant in my neighborhood called Leaf Cuisine that I have fallen in love with. They are not too high-priced and generally the portions can be split into two or even three meals! Everything is vegetable and nut based, so it’s very filling. Because I know some folks think raw means a “mouthful of nasty,” I’m here to tell you, oh-no-not-true. In fact, once you get past the fact that the food has no warmth in it, you would be amazed at the flavor. Plus, it keeps me satisfied for hours after consuming. Am I going to become a raw food follower or vegan? No. Anything but! I’m the sort that will eat a grilled chicken breast along with the totally raw, vegan gazpacho soup! I think that’s illegal in some countries, but there is no one here to stop me. I’ve included pics of the oatmeal, harvest sandwich and cacao (pure dark chocolate) mousse for viewing purposes. All items are completely unprocessed in any way other than some of it having been dehydrated for preservation purposes. It’s considered truly “live” or naked food. Yum!

Okay, I’m off of here and back to work. Lots to do before closing shop today.

Later