Thanks to the Amgen Tour of California contest-and-sale from Road ID, The Other Half sprung early for part of my birthday present -- the nice, sporty Wrist ID Elite. The "interactive" version features a member-controlled (that means I'm the one who puts the information in it and controls what information is in it) personal health record, which the Road ID folk call an "Emergency Response Profile" or ERP. The ERP can be read by (or read to) a first responder or a hospital admissions clerk from either the Road ID members' site or by calling a specific phone number. The name on the front and the unique serial number on the back of the ID tag provide the necessary access identification. (READ MORE)

I've often mentioned that my diabetes role models in someways mirror the "dos" and "don'ts" of "proper (Type 2) diabetes management". When we are presented with a "what not to do" scenario taken from a real person, in real life, we often call that an "object lesson". 

While our original plans for last Sunday were to head into the City (New York City, for those who care) to meet up with other members of the Diabetes Online Community, the combination of short finances and The Other Half's ongoing issues with foot pain and the aftermath of his sciatica attack made those plans a "no-go".

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Now that the cold weather is here in full swing, getting out and about is as much a struggle of the mind against the elements as it is of the body. Part of it is a matter of peripheral circulation issues; part of it is a matter of equipment and gear. Since the Dolce is a lot more serious a vehicle than the old Excelle was, I need more "technical" apparel to ride it comfortably. In addition to my new headlight and a replacement helmet, my December purchases included a winter cycling jacket, hat and balaclava, a couple of long-sleeved jerseys, a second pair of tights, and some better-fitting shorts.

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One of my scariest trips ever on bicycle was a seven-mile jaunt home from Watertown, Massachusetts to Cambridge in the middle of winter, after dark, on a three-speed commuter with no lights, on a stretch of road which had no street lights but a moderate amount of high-speed traffic. My fingers were freezing despite the warm gloves, and as much (or as little) ambient light as there was from the other side of the river, I found the lights of cars behind me to be a helpful aid as they approached -- but a bane as they passed, leaving me temporarily blinded by their relative brilliance.

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There's something to be said against being seen as a poseur -- a wannabe who goes completely overboard kitting out, a dilettante who poses as an expert, a newbie who buys every last doodad before even learning the activity he's trying out... If you've seen the golfing episode of The Honeymooners ("Helloooo, ball!") or Tintin's Inspectors Dupont and Dupond (in the ceremonial costumes of each country they travel to), you have some idea of what I'm talking about.

Now, I have been known to Take Myself Too Seriously. Preparing dinner can be an exercise in complex seasonings and more sinks-full of of dishes than Julia Child. Exercise involves a heart rate monitor and a Web-based log. Even the costumes I make for my teddy bears start with period undergarments. In short, I often do things to the hilt -- or at least, pretty close to it.

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