I am a Fat Lard

It’s benefits season again, which means it’s time for us to peruse the steadily dwindling choices before us and make some decisions on just how sick we expect to get this year.

Part of this process, at the company where I work, involves completing a survey on my eating, exercising, and otherwise personal maintenance habits.  The survey is optional, but if completed it gives me a few extra dollars to invest in our benefits package, so I figured, “Why not?”

I now have the answer to that question.

As I came to the end of the survey, I clicked the final ‘submit’ and waited while the server chugged for a minute.  The next screen made me do a triple-nerf.

Essentially it said that, based on my responses, I was a ticking time bomb — due to unwind at any moment in a dazzling display of uneaten carrots, flaccid biceps, and a cigar I smoked 2 years ago.  But that didn’t concern me nearly as much as the next lines: “Click here to schedule an interview with a personal health coach” it said.  “If you do not schedule an interview within 2 weeks, a coach will contact you directly.”

Oh.

That, I hadn’t counted on.  Now, I realize that I’m not getting as much exercise as I ought.  And I realize that I’m not eating the requisite 45 pounds of fruits and veggies a day, and that I indicated my stress levels as “occasionally problematic.”  That’s just being honest with myself.  I didn’t realize I was also being honest with Joe The Phantom Health Coach, who was no doubt going to spend a solid hour berating me for being a shameless, lethargic tub.

Or – perhaps worse – would try to help.

“I see here that you’ve indicated you have high levels of stress,” says Joe.

“Yes,” I reply.

“How do you think you could reduce this stress?”, Joe queries.

“I could quit my job.”

“Uh, well, I wasn’t really…”

“And move to a commune.”

“No, see, it’s more about…”

“I also find grocery shopping stressful.  All the rusty, dilapidated carts, and I always end up with one that has a bum front wheel.  I don’t think I’m going to buy groceries anymore.”

Joe is getting concerned now.  “That’s not really what we’re trying to…”

“I’ll just rummage in trash bins, and maybe ride a bus once in a while to pick things out from between the seats.  And I can go to the park on weekends, and just stroll up to people having barbecues and eat their food.”

“No,” says Joe, “I don’t think that’s the best…”

“I also find bathing stressful.”

Yes, I could imagine that conversation going downhill in a hurry.

Of course, when the coach finally called, it wasn’t as bad as all that.  He asked some questions (“Do you feel good about being a malnourished out-of-shape embarassment to society?” “Does it horrify you to walk shirtless in front of a mirror?”), and got me to define some health goals for the coming year.  Then he left me with a game plan (work out, occasionally), a word of encouragement (“It’s up to you to just get it done!”) and what I viewed as a warning (“Right, then I’ll call you this time next month and see how it’s going.”)

So now part of my health plan includes trying to be more healthy.  I can’t tell if this means my company is compassionate, sly, or just one step short of Big Brother.

photo credit: mrpattersonsir