Thursday, October 18, 2012

Sure, my leg muscles may have atrophied and my lung capacity may have diminished, but the secret crevasses of my brain responsible for prose have some life in them yet, and so we find ourselves here. The goal of running the 5K has receded considerably–indeed, it may be dead–and it’s been a good week or so free of exercise. The topic of health, though, has been unavoidable, despite my best efforts.

For one thing, the first cracks of my high deductible health plan began to show yesterday in the form of sticker shock, when two prescriptions that normally would’ve called for $95 out of pocket skyrocketed to more than $600. I decided to give the plan a whirl this year, buoyed by my track record of infrequent doctor’s visits. I understood the underlying change in plans, too–a trade-off between risk and financial gain.

But I had pictured coughing up my $2,000 deductible in the dead of night at the ER for an exotic procedure in the wake of some horrific accident. I didn’t think I’d blow through 30% of it at the Target pharmacy. That’s the moral of the story, I suppose. You’re not really choosing between different plans, so much as indicating whether the healthcare industry should fuck you sideways or straight-up. Come next year’s enrollment period, I’m going to raise my hand for the latter again.

I also gave the paleo lifestyle some serious consideration a few days ago, as if it would somehow put me back in the 5K game. I combed through the menus, weighed the price differential, and then came face-to-face with a key question: how much squash and brisket can a man possibly consume? I want the greatness of change without the burden of effort, or forsaking cheese and fries and the delicious intersection thereof.