My Redacted Life ... health

I’m fat, out of shape, and suffering from extremely high blood pressure at age 30. What could I do? I asked around and found out that the Downtown YMCA, at Sixth and Broadway in Little Rock had a fitness center frequented by many of the men who worked in the area. They had recently opened the center to African-American men, but several years would pass before women members appeared. I checked it out.

One of the finest people who ever lived ran the club. Actually, there was a “Health Club” and a “Businessman’s Club.” I don’t quite remember which was which, but one was more expensive than the other. Anyway, ErselTillery ran both and provided an excellent program. He would give you a checkup and prescribe an exercise program based on your vital signs.

That’s where the trouble started.

While taking my blood pressure, Ersel couldn’t suppress an “Oh no.” I’ve always felt that if he hadn’t been a Baptist minister, he might have uttered a profanity.

Here’s what happened.

My BP was so high and my body fat so great that he had no exercise program to start me on.

He studied on it awhile. Ersel wasn’t one to give up on a man just because he was a slothful blob of fat. So he designed a program just for me so I wouldn’t keel over dead my first day of a new life. Here is what he came up with.

There was this little wooden track on the third floor. It resembled a 45 rpm phonograph record and it took 30 laps to make a mile. The lowest form of Ersel’s exercise program was for a really out-of-shape man to jog around the track nine times, walk around nine times, jog around, etc, for a little over half-a-mile, after attending a “stretch and strength” class he taught at noon and just after work. He was afraid that beginner’s program might kill me.

So … he devised a plan for my first couple of weeks. I could waddle around the little track once, walk around it once, for a total of nine revolutions. In the class, I had to stop halfway through each exercise. You can imagine how the others in the class stared at me. Oh well.

I was committed, though. And Ersel was patient. I knew some folks who came to the gym. I wore loose clothing so they wouldn’t see the full extent of my corpulence. I don’t think I fooled anyone though. I would usually go the class at lunchtime. If I missed, and wasn’t on the road, I could come after work. We lived south of the YMCA, on Broadway, so the gym was on my way to and fro. I didn't miss a day.

Two weeks passed and I was still alive. Ersel was pleased, so he doubled my regimen. The signs dropped a little, not much, but they were headed in the right direction. And … I imagined that I felt a little better. This transition, no matter how slight, pleased my wife who dreamed of my amassing a fortune before departing this earthly sojourn. We each have our dreams, I suppose.

Tomorrow: Real progress.

The wonderful man
who saved my life.