Today, I still spent most of it in a hospital being of some support to my mother, being this admirable son that everyone seems to want me to be sure I know.
I managed to blow off breakfast this morning, and waited until lunch time to eat. Not good. Predictably, I made, by decree of the universal monarch, an exception for ordering an order of onion rings with my Caesar salad. And I sat there hypocritically enjoying the little rush of being bad especially on the sly, except that the whole thing was performed in front of the goddamn guy trying to write this blog. True to form, after a nearly orgasmic satisfaction (I know, that's hyperbole), it was so not worth doing that. The writing was on the wall, not making the time in the morning for the egg whites and getting the day started correctly. And before that I was obsessed about some back-and-forthness of the scale, which last week plummeted consistently like a rock. I need to not touch the scale except once a week.
So I jogged the same trip I did yesterday, without swinging weights, but attempting a faster rate (on a track that has a 150' elevation change down and up).
I'm curious about measuring effort. Naively it seems it should be the calories measure, and interestingly enough by jogging rather than walking, I competed the same mile in less time, and with less calories burned. Perhaps a more interesting measure would be
calories / minutes today = 178cal / 17:15min = 10.3 calories / minute
calories / minutes yesterday = 223cal / 22:17min = 10 calories / minute
Oh, and the title. My mother identified me to the questioning occupational therapists as "her husband". Twice. All right, having a stroke is an awfully good reason to be confused about that. It's just a little scary to hear after you have suspected that there is a really unrealistic and unhealthy perspective taking place in that now ravaged brain of hers.
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