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My apologies to Mr. Poe.


Once upon this Christmas season, as I pondered, within reason
Through my numbers, stolen from the memory my One Touch Ultra stored.
While I noticed, nearly sleeping, all the records I was keeping
Showed a low that I saw, peeping, “Study me!” It did implore.
“I know you,” I muttered, “Tricky low from nights before.”
Lessons learned in spades, once more.

And the pages of my logbook, underneath my hand they shook
As I saw the low that plagued me on my nightly workout tour.
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
“Never workout without eating, eat a snack, I do implore.
Workouts make you low and then you must eat more.
Eat until you’ve been restored.”

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was just this bleak December.
And I had just returned from work, surviving traffic jam galore.
Went to the gym and worked out hard, ridding my body of it’s lard
Counted all my work out carbs, those carbs are what I bolused for.
For those tasty, complex carbs whom the pump was cranked up more.
‘Twas only these and nothing more.

And I left my mind at home and worked out at the gym alone,
With nothing but some juice, my phone, and I forgot to test before.
So as I worked out hard, and sweating, all the time I was forgetting
Never letting myself test and find out my blood reading score.
But legs buckled and I stopped, staring at the Gold’s Gym floor.
“I’d better test or I’m done for.”

Meter out and finger pricked, I waited for the finger stick
To ferret out my sure to be low hemoglobin score.
After seconds, I rang in with sweaty palms — Forty Seven!
And chugged the juice like I have never chugged the juice before.
I had to drink it fast or else I would have hit the floor.
A fall like that makes heads quite sore.

My face, once pale, restored its blush. I gathered my things in a rush
And staggered to the car with levels rising more and more.
Keys in ignition, I remembered, that the bolus I had tendered
Covered more carbs than I rendered, rendered to my mouth before
I walked through those big glass gym doors.
Overbolused, nothing more.

The lesson learned, I fear to lecture, from this Raven-esque conjecture
Is that “just a snack” is not enough glucose for my body to store.
I’ve realized, through this event, that working out is Glucose Spent
Just some tweaking saves my head from crashing up against the floor.
I crank my basal down to even up the score.
In hopes of being low no more.

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