Tight shirt
This is a free shirt the hospital gave me after my physical. I think they were trying to mock/motivate me to lose some weight for next year. “Good luck squeezing into this, tubby.”

It’s known simply as “The Executive.”

No, it’s not the double-breasted raincoat created by Morty Seinfeld. Rather, it’s the all inclusive, deluxe, all-day, annual physical exam that comes free with Trina’s health insurance. We’re talking bone scans, ultrasounds and wired up running on a treadmill.

I got my first “Executive” last week and I have to admit I went into it pretty cocky. I mean I’m down about 20 pounds from my Regina days and I’ve literally been running around with high schoolers all year. How could I be unhealthy? Well, let me tell you.

The Executive, officially called the Better Man Health Screening Service, starts off at an alarmingly rapid pace. I was whisked between about a dozen nurses in only a few short minutes. In that time, I: peed in a cup, had my blood take, had a vision and a hearing test, was measured, weighed and had my fat percentage calculated, underwent a lung test by blowing into a plastic tube; and was examined by a doctor (fully clothed).

Apparently, genitals don’t exist in the Malaysian medical community? Ah well, I’ll inspect my own.

It was a whirlwind, but so far everything was on track. It wasn’t until the treadmill run when things started going south.

As I started running shirtless with wires attached to my nipples, everything felt normal. But, then I felt the sweat. And more sweat. And even more sweat, until it was flowing like Guinness on St. Patrick’s Day.

Now, this was normal for me. I’m a sweater. But, this was not apparently normal for the nurse with me in the room. With big round eyes and mouth agape, she kindly asked:

Nurse: “Are you having chest pains?”

Me: “Haha, no.”

Nurse: “Would you like to stop?”

Me: (becoming slightly annoyed) “No. Why?”

Nurse: “You are sweating very much. Are you not used to running?”

Me: (thinking: let’s race, beatch!) “I’m fine.”

After the test was finished, she kindly handed me a dozen or so paper towels and actually said, “wow” when I handed her the sweaty suction cups. I admit it was a bit gross, but I still hope she slipped and fell on my sweaty trail.

Once that humiliation was over, it was time for all sorts of scans and rays to be pushed through my body. With that complete, it was time to discuss the results with the same doctor who had examined my clothes earlier.

I thought for sure my excessive sweating would come up, but it didn’t. What did come up was that everything looked normal except I was overweight (I must have been obese back in Canada) and it appeared I was eating too much protein (eggs, peanut butter and nuts are my staples) as my uric acid levels were high. Nothing serious, but I’ve got to watch out for the gout!

While the weight thing bugs me, it doesn’t surprise me. And even though I was hoping to be labelled the healthiest 37-year-old man ever, it’s nice knowing that nothing should kill me in the next year. In this case, it’s good to be average.

So, while the “Executive” wasn’t as classy as the double-breasted raincoat, it was pretty useful. I can’t wait to sweat even more next year.