Written April 23, 2025
Hello Dear Readers,
This morning, I sprang out of bed like a slightly confused cat and went for a run, despite the air feeling more like “early spring rebellion” than “early summer vibes.” Brisk? Yes. Regret it? Not entirely. Especially not after discovering something unexpected: I now weigh less than my goal weight.
Cue dramatic gasp.
Now, before you roll your eyes or hurl a dumbbell in my general direction, hear me out. This is not a humblebrag. In fact, it’s more of a humble-uh-oh. My wife, ever supportive but never shy, is predictably envious — but the truth is, keeping my weight up is a legitimate struggle. Yes, folks, we exist: the protein-challenged calorie chasers.
Thanks to a complicated relationship between me and my kidneys (we’re on speaking terms, but barely), I’m limited to just 36 grams of protein a day. That’s not even enough to fuel a toddler’s wrestling match. Meanwhile, my body, ever the drama queen, starts eating muscle like it’s the appetizer at an all-you-can-burn buffet.
And summer? Oh, summer. With its relentless lawn care, endless sweating, and bonus rounds of physical exertion, it doesn’t help the situation. Last year, when my weight took a nosedive, I resorted to a daring solution: ice cream. High in fat, gloriously low in protein, and — most importantly — medically justifiable.
Research also led me to puff pastry (yes, that kind). Turns out, those buttery, flaky bites of heaven are practically prescribed when you’re me. I bake mini versions now and snack on a few a day like it’s a gourmet intervention.
My wife, nutrition detective that she is, thinks my body is demanding more calories because of the muscle mass I’ve (very slowly) built over the years. Apparently, when you have muscles, they actually do things — like increase metabolism. Who knew? Even my health-tracking apps are applauding my efforts, telling me I’m biologically younger than I am. Take that, gravity.
But here’s the catch: when your kidneys are fussy, and your menu is more “delicate negotiation” than “buffet line,” you can’t just refuel with whatever looks healthy. Bananas? Problematic. Broccoli? Suspicious. Chicken breast? Enemy territory. Whole grains? A risky gamble.
On the bright side, I don’t have diabetes — which, as the hospital reminded me, often strolls hand-in-hand with kidney disease and heart issues after a brain stroke. So yes, carbs and I are still dating.
Neither my wife nor I indulge in salty snacks, greasy meals, or carb-laden fiestas. And yet, despite our best efforts at adulting responsibly, doctors never figured out why I developed high blood pressure and kidney problems. Cancer was ruled out after a battery of tests. The final verdict? Likely a phenotype mutation. Which sounds either like a Marvel backstory or a Scrabble power move.
Anyway, bottom line: it’s time for more ice cream. I’ll make sure it lands on our next grocery list, filed under “essentials,” right between “milk” and “life’s too short.”
Until next time — may your pastries be puffy, and your kidneys compliant.