Query

When I was in medical school I regarded postgraduate students summarily as FURBALLS: Fat Ugly Residents with Big Appetites Livin' Large. To my eyes then, residents let themselves go when they started work, sliding under an imaginary fitness threshold, gaining overnight an unhealthy amount of weight. I vowed never to balloon in coming years; at the time of my pledge, I exercised every day with regular jogs and trips to the university gymnasium. My friends and I laughed at my invented acronym. I never cared to think about the reasons behind the physical change observed in others; it was enough simply to recognize it. Blithely, I assumed that I would be different.

Figure. Photo by: Anson Liaw

But now, several years later, I have become a victim of my own acronym. The gradual weight accretion and decreased endurance have proved me to be what I swore I'd never become: I'm mildly obese, a stairwell-panter. One night, an in-hospital run to a cardiac arrest was enough to make me re-evaluate my body image. I had raced to the bedside after climbing several flights, chugging along but losing speed with each step, feeling my fat sway with gravity's bounce. When I arrived I felt like lying down beside the patient; nurses noticed my heavy breathing. It was difficult to get out orders.

The revenge of the FURBALLS.

This incident happened a month ago, and since then I've started to run again. Each morning I gradually add to my time and distance; now I'm up to 3.5 kilometres, about twenty minutes' duration. This is far off my pace of just five years ago, the time I invented the acronym, and each step is a deserved punishment for my insolence.

On these runs I consider the reasons for my slow physical decline. The biggest culprit is lack of time. Beginning residency meant a major increase in responsibility; residents have much more work than students do in their easy, lecture-hall languor. Another factor is hospital food: the cafeterias I've encountered are all greasy spoons. Shovelling in the fried and baked goods between patients, I've rarely stopped to consider the implications of eating this high-calorie material.

Finally, increased age has decreased my general energy level. I watch the young blood roam about the hospital, students scurrying back and forth from patient to patient. They appear so energetic, so toned and able bodied. I'm jealous of their physical grace and hide my self-consciousness on rounds. I think of them when I run alone, wonder how long it will take for my body to rejuvenate. Or if it will. Watching the young ones scamper in the hospital has one beneficial effect, though: as I trot along the wooded path in the local park, I inevitably think of them, and when that thought comes, I'm encouraged to run farther, faster.

— Dr. Ursus