Laugh out loud!!! Or lol as it is inscribed all over the virtual world. That's how I felt…summer 2011. It's hot here in Alba. (North west Italy, about an hour from Turin.) I'm in the gym again, thanking my lucky stars that my flexible working hours teaching English (lol!) permits me to hit the gym in the afternoon when there are only about three people there!
One's the owner, Claudio, all the way from Argentina…but hey I won't hold that against him…all that hand of God stuff…but on the other hand some things are just are unforgivable aren't they? No, no I let it go…he supports Inter and we have a mutual hatred for Juventus. That'll do for me. We forge out a great friendship.
I'm on the inclined squat machine and hitting a quite a respectable 500lbs…yeah…5 sets of 12. That'll sort out these spindly little legs of mine.
My mind starts to wander a little. 47 odd years old, maybe time for a little health check up. Have felt a little heart burn lately…God I need to stop drinking those espresso coffees…my espresso of choice is the ristretto version, even stronger (lol)!
At home I drag out the old lap top and type in heart burt and a few other symptoms I'm feeling. Then BANG!!! I'm pregnant. (lol) I'm pretty sure this can't be so, but, more importantly any pain in the chest needs to be checked out. so I book a check up.
Blood tests are perfect. One doctor mutters something about a swiss watch…I slip him a smirk, and head off to the cardiologist. It's late in the afternoon and he puts on the electrodes and monitors my heart. He categorically states I'm safe to have sex without fear of having a heart attack. I slip him a smirk, but dare question him about this. "Don't I need to do this test under stress to really evaluate the condition of the heart?" He smiles and invites me to the hospital at 11pm to do the test!!! 11pm are you kidding????
By this time Silvia has joined me. I tell the quack I haven't brought my trainers and tracksuit because it was such short notice. He laughs and says you'll be OK in your pants and socks!
The tread mill is running at a gentle incline. He says your maximum heart rate should be about 180 beats per minute, and I need to arrive there. (I slip him a smirk…) Red rag to a bull…as 180 passes, Silvia and the doc are screaming for me to stop!!! lol!!! 10 beats per second more!!! That'll do…then collapse on a heap on the floor!! We monitor my pulse as it slows…he gestures towards me an invisible certificate stating I'm fit to run The New York Marathon!!! Life is sweet. lol!