Yesterday, I freaked myself out.
I ate 3 slices of pizza during a working lunch. By six, I had a tightness in the chest that challenged all my struggles to keep my panic under control. Straight to the doc with Kevin, who also had a turned ankle (we have a tendency to get ill together) and from there for an ECG, conducted by the receptionist (no less) of the diagnostic place we went to.
All clear of course, just acidic build-up, but enough to get me serious about doing something about my weight.
Of course, while this all sounds very grown-up and mature, have to say that I had my little internal rant. I do not smoke, I do not drink (beyond a watered down Bloody Mary and a shandy that gives it all up to the lemonade), and I do not eat all that much either.
But since life is not fair (and I must admit that I do not eat all that healthy either in whatever I do eat), I will make some changes