Monday I partook in one of The Golden Years’ most emotionally-conflicting experiences — my annual physical.

At this point I liken my physical to embarking on a voyage in the early days of sail. I hope for smooth seas and a successful conclusion, but all the while I’m keenly aware of the chance of breaking up on an uncharted reef and sinking into the briny deep.

After sitting in the waiting room long enough to ramp my anxieties to the proper level, I got called in by Alicia, Dr. Waickman’s first sergeant.

“OK, hop on the scale,” she said breezily, as if I can still hop on — or off — anything.

As I stepped on the scale she chirped, “These are our new scales.”

I stood and watched the numbers go up … and up. Finally they stopped.

“New scales?” I said.

“Yep,” she said. “Brand new.”

Staring at the final number, I said, “So when you gonna calibrate them?”

Her laughter echoed down the hall — though rather hollowly for my tastes.

Next it was blood pressure time and then some questions I can’t remember, and then Dr. W. took over.

Giving the doc his due, he is remarkably deliberate and thorough. As I sat on the examining table, he sat in front of me, his laptop in front of him, and posed question after question. It was the usual litany of close-ended questions. I was comfortable if not delighted with my replies, since all my answers indicated a septuagenarian in fine fettle.

All the while he click-clacked away on his keyboard, recording everything in precious detail. At least, I think that’s what he did. For all I know he could’ve been chatting on Facebook with his old frat brother, Trashmo, about their salad days back at Old Siwash.

“So, you sleep well?” he asks me.

“Like a baby,” I say. “I wake up every four hours, crying.”

No laugh. No smile. No smirk. Not even a tiny upward curl of the lips. Instead, it’s a poker face and clickity-clack, clickity-clack as he scribes my reply. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s chatting with Trashmo about Sigma’s legendary Kosmic Kegger of ’78.

Finally, more questions, replies and click-clacks, he puts his laptop away, and we get to the physical part of the physical.

He squints and stares, taps and tweaks, presses and pokes. When the actual exam is over, he picks up his laptop and punches in a bunch more stuff. After that, he snaps the laptop shut and is ready to talk turkey. Or more exactly, is ready to talk to this turkey.

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A too-round number

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“Essentially,” he says, “for someone your age, you’re in good shape.”

“I’ll take that,” I say.

What I don’t say is I full well understand the difference between being in good shape for someone my age versus being in good shape, period. Anyone my age knows exactly what I mean. Anyone younger? Don’t worry — you’ll find out soon enough.

“But,” he goes on, “there’s a matter that must be addressed.”

“Oh?” I say.

“We need to talk about your weight.”

“Oh that,” I say. “It wasn’t bad. I always carry a book. Besides, what’s an hour or so to me?”

“No,” he says, “I’m not referring to your wait before the appointment.”

“You’re not?” I say, even though I knew what he’d meant when he’d said it.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m talking about your body weight.”

“Oh,” I say. “That weight. Heh, heh …”

“You’re six pounds heavier than last year,” he says.

Six pounds, six shmounds, I think.

“You weigh 172 pounds,” he says.

At last, a direct hit amidships. For a small guy, it’s too big a number to dismiss.

“So by any measure of BMI, you’re obese,” he says.

Obese. That four-letter word it takes five letters to spell.

I’m in shock.

He goes on about the health hazards of obesity, sensible strategies to lose weight, the joys of being thin, but I hear none of it. I’m still in shock.

Finally, the appointment ends. I stagger out of his office, a changed man but hardly a better one.

Obese? No!

Stocky, husky, even chunky. But obese? No.

The next day the shock wears off, and I face the issue head on: Obese? Yes.

Much as I may not like it, I’ve got a problem. Or if you wish, I’ve got six problems … or maybe 172 of ’em. The fact is, I need to lose weight. But how?

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Strength through tubers

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It’s funny how we have those times when we need help, and rather than us finding it, it finds us. And so it was with me as help came in the form of my childhood friend Mike Newman.

Mike is a summer resident, but we only see each other now and then. And the second day after my doc’s appointment was the first time I’d seen him this summer. His appearance took me aback. He looked years younger, much leaner, more muscular — almost like a whole new guy.

After we exchanged our greetings, I told him how great he looked.

“It’s all due to an exercise program I got into last year,” he said.

“What’s it called?” I asked.

“Spud Buddy,” he said.

“Spud Buddy?” I said, setting up what I thought was a brilliant punch line. “Whattaya do, pump taters?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he said, evenly, “that’s exactly what I do.”

Then he explained.

Spud Buddy started as a weight and aerobic system for people who couldn’t afford buying either gym memberships or their own weights. Instead of dumbbells, people used potato sacks. They’re cheap, readily available, and are actually more beneficial than traditional dumbbells: Because they tend to twist and turn, they require more strength and balance to work out with.

After Mike explained how it all worked, I decided to try it. Here’s how it works.

You start with two 10-pound potato sacks, used in the same manner as dumbbells. You do curls, reverse curls, presses, side raises, bench work, half-squats — 10 sets of different exercises in all. The approach is to start light and keep building up repetitions and sets. It’s perfectly logical and doable, and Mike is living proof of how well it works.

So here’s my plan: I’ll start by doing each exercise 10 times, and all 10 sets once a day. The next week, I’ll do 10 repetitions, but two sets. The week after that, I’ll do 15 reps and two sets. Then, 15 reps and three sets. And I’ll keep building reps and sets till I’m doing 25 reps and five sets a day. I reckon I’ll hit that level by mid-September.

And if I stick with that, by Oct. 1, I should be able to do all the reps and sets with a potato in each sack.