My blood pressure shot up when I turned 41. For a year, I ran and swam, squeezed stress balls and ate low-salt coleslaw. It helped, but not all the way. Finally, I showed up at the office of my good friend, Dr. Bob Bahler.
He listened to my history, including the “everybody in my family has hypertension, but I’m too young...” line. He chuckled when he heard I’d signed up for a marathon just to scare myself into exercising more regularly.
“How’s that working out?” he asked.
“A little too well,” I said miserably, waiting for the floodgate of testing to begin.
“Nah,” he said, “you’re just getting old.”