38 and laughing

I guess it could be worse. I could have couch potato heart syndrome. Or something I heard yesterday when a person described herself as a competition survivor. What could be worse than competition survivor's heart syndrome? Truth be known, I kinda wish they would have diagnosed this lingering condition as lovers heart syndrome. But they are now saying it might be Athletic Heart Syndrome. 

You are just going to have to cut back on the intensity of your lovemaking. 

This AHS is about the same. For three decades I have been aggressively in pursuit of a combination of advanced muscular performance and minimal cardio effort. That means more horsepower with less work to deliver it. The muscles go and the heart stays low. That is the whole idea. That is also one way we rate fitness. We call it RHR. Resting heart rate. Mine was measured yesterday for the second time in 60 days by EKG. My morning analog method has shown it to be 44bpm for almost ten years now. I prescribe it religiously to the folks that I train. It can be a predictor of fitness as well as illness. Twice now the technology has beat me. Twice the EKG measured me at 38. Who am I to argue? 

Too low, they all said. You have athletic bradycardia and maybe a lot of other bad stuff as a result. You should go back to school, get another job, take a long vacation, quit all this rigorous exercise, sleep more and take medication to correct the issue. They seem non-plussed when I relay data indicating Miguel Indurain and Lance Armstrong both had RHRs less than 30. Nobody told THEM to slow down. Except the guys on the other teams. 

You are just going to have to cut back the duration of your lovemaking. 

Going long isn't something you do on a lark. You work towards it. You allow physical adaption. You work hard, rest and recover harder. You enjoy the process. You use the right fuel and insure proper hydration. Over time, and my dues are paid in full, your ability to sustain a performance standard is mastered. You may go long. See ya. 

After yesterday's second visit, and second round of Provider - Patient Q&A, I found out something else. I cannot talk about myself without it turning to comedy. Seriously, the cute doctor asks me a simple question about my stress and how I manage it and before you can say Horatio Hornblower, I have covered drugs, sex, rock 'n roll, Little Miss Mirthy, my collection of guitars, communism, capitalism, the 1099 long form, Real Course Videos, blue-fin tuna, Robert A. Heinlein, Australia, nirvana, hell and a girl named Clementine. 

You are going to have to cut back on these explosive blasts of power. 

Have you ever seen a doctor blush? I could see her taking mental notes:

Ask him yes or no questions from this point forward.

Do you smoke? No

Do you have a family history of heart disease? No

Do you use drugs? No

Do you have any allergies? No

Are you sexually active? Why do you ask?

More blush. Trying to hide smile. 

Answer the question please.

Not today. 

I feel better already. Knowing that I still have the ability to laugh at myself. I cannot talk about me without going full sand-up. It would be sad I guess.

If it wasn't so funny.