So my blood pressure is a little higher than I would like it. It’s “high normal” when I want it to be “normal normal.” You probably know the drill: cut the salt, check! join a gym, check! actually go to gym and sweat several times a week, check! From the exercise I seem to be losing inches and getting firmer —good things to be sure, but my blood pressure has not budged. Maybe I am just carrying around too much weight, even if it’s more muscle and less fat than it used to be. I decided to try a nutritionist.
Now, I like my doctor, an old guy who listens and has a sense of humour. I respect my doctor, because he seems to know what he is doing. So, at my annual checkup, I get him to refer me to a nutritionist, one who had just started practicing in the medical group he belongs to. It seemed like an auspicious beginning.
What I wanted from a nutritionist was someone who would look at my activity, and say, “Calorie / protein / nutritionally, etcetera, here is what you should be eating on days you work out. On days you don’t work out, eat like this.” I was hoping for someone who would spend some time figuring out about my workouts and what my nutritional needs were on those days, as opposed to the days I was less active. Perhaps there would be some tests that they would run; something medical or physiological or clinical or needful of instruments. I had general expectations, ballpark ideas of how it was going to go down. These expectations were dashed pretty quick upon arrival. After some prelim chit-chat in the hall on the way to her office, she cut to the chase.
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