Call it a mid-life crisis. Call it a grand cardiovascular experiment. Call it a middle-age guy growing tired of waiting until next year before he finally gets off his ass and starts making himself trim and healthy.

You can even call it a benefit of popping antidepressants like Tic-Tacs (ok, I don't really do that, but you get the idea).

Whatever you call it, I'm getting myself into shape, and for those of you who've seen the Rocky movies, I feel like Rocky in Rock IV. The one where he trains in Russia with the simplest of methods and, quite literally, farm equipment.

Last year at this time, please pardon my french (not this French) I was scared shitless. I was having these brief bursts of something. I didn't know what. Felt like my heart was racing then stopping, twisting itself into a pretzel, and then just when I though I was going to keel over, it'd pop itself back into a normal rhythm.

I was scared to do anything. I'd still get on the treadmill, but I'd warm up so slowly that you'd think I was 90 years old and exercising at a rehab clinic. And I'd never get my heart rate up over about 135.

Fast forward to February of this year, and I'd had another battery of tests, blood work and en event monitor, and I got a diagnosis. PAT, aka PSVT. I also had a few couplets and triplets thrown in there for good measure. But none of it was life threatening. My cardio assured me that the scariest of my symptoms were simply not able to kill me. Couldn't do it. I could have that rhythm for days and not affect my life expectancy.

I was hesitant at first, but I believed her.

In Spring I got back into my work routine and would have days of virtually non-stop PVCs, bigeminy, trigeminy, you name it. But I knew from my decade worth of experience that I was still feeling the effects of truckloads of stress on my mind and body. The antidepressants I took were slowly changing my outlook and approach to much of my daily life. The pharmacists told me I'd have to wait for at least two weeks to feel the full effect.

I think that the changes they can create can actually take months.

Because here I am, one year removed from being pretty sure I was going to need an ICD or an ablation or some kind of heart procedure, and I'm exercising. Hard. And the beauty of it is, I don't even know how hard. In the last two months I've run either on a treadmill or on the roads in my neighborhood an average of 3 miles a day. Every day. Most days it's 5 miles.

...more in a bit....