Opening the top left drawer of my dresser in the bedroom, I need a fresh pair of underwear. However, the drawer is filled with so many items besides the needed unders. This is where I store 1/2 ream of printed emails that my husband sent to me in the year before we got married. It holds 18 old mother’s day cards from my three children, 8 bibs from races that I’ve run and 4 metals from three half-marathons and one full marathon that I ran, and 12 multi-colored headbands.
At first glance, it holds everything EXCEPT underwear. Do I not own underwear? Do I even wear underwear?
Have you ever given any thought to the idea that underwear should be considered when making a commitment to yourself about self-care? Well, let me tell you a story… Continue reading →
What do you do when your an active woman with a full life and your body starts to fall apart? Well, I made an appointment to see my primary care physician…
At the office visit, my doctor informed me that that I no longer needed a mammogram, pap smear, or colonoscopy. I found this interesting so I asked, “Why is that?” He skirted around the question, but I guessed, “You mean I am just too old?”
Well, the fact is, say…if cancer is detected, I am actually too old to go through the process of working on a cure or whatever….
Midlife: That time in your life when you finally get your head together and your body starts to fall apart!
Let that sink in a moment.
That made me feel, kind of, sort of WEIRD.
I never thought that when you got older you kind of just let things go since they are going to go to hell anyway. I guess I’m just not quite ready for that mindset.
So are we just supposed to die young? It seems to me that our bodies are set to work until a certain age and then they seem to fall apart. (I seem to have gone past the life expectancy of my right knee!)
I have come to the conclusion that the reason the life expectancy of people years ago was much younger was that the body parts are for a certain age. If you have to deal with worn-out knees, painful hips, or other decrepit joints, it just really takes the life right out of you.
I had been doing really well–physically, that is. (We won’t talk about mentally.) I love to exercise–mostly walking with my dog, Emma. Well, I loved to when I had a knee that actually worked.
But you want to know what is so hard about this whole situation? I don’t want to be “layed up” for weeks and weeks! I have always prided myself on being in fair shape. But now that I have reached the ripe old age of xx, o.k. 76, I am really bummed out about this because I don’t have the time or the patience to have downtime or a recoup time. My life has to go on. as. it. is.
If you look around, you will see people with canes, walkers, wheelchairs. That is because their longevity has run out and they are spending a lot of time and money just trying to keep their muscles, joints, and bodies working.
I now understand, but don’t want to believe it.
So, here is to one knee replacement, with another one to follow. Onward you old body. You need to keep up with my wants and my desire to keep active and enjoy life.
So, if you ever find yourself in a similar position, your body seems to be ready to leave the party (and way too soon for the rest of you)…suck it up! Do whatever it takes to make your body do what it takes to keep up with your active lifestyle.
As I sit here with my white legs, white arms, white face, white body, white everything looking like a newly plucked chicken, next to my Hispanic granddaughter with beautiful caramel skin. I love caramel skin and in my next life perhaps I will have that gorgeous, flawless skin, caramel in color. But, today I am reflecting back to the days when we actually tried to achieve, and did, but not without a little (a lot) discomfort and pain. Continue reading →
I got my hair cut–I mean CUT–right before 2nd grade. I was 7 years old. My mom had just gotten her 1960’s shoulder-length locks updated into the iconic 70’s shag. I loved her new do and wanted to be a grown-up who could make choices about my hair. So after much begging and pleading, mom relented. Thus was the beginning with my love/hate relationship with my hair.
As a child, my body was an absolute bean pole, skinny that is. I actually went to the doctor as a teenager to get something to help me gain weight. He, of course, thought I was nuts, but gave me some kind of a prescription (probably just sugar pills). He said, “Someday you will wish you were this way.” Boy, was he right!
Then there is my hair. I am old, so to speak, and I can truthfully say I have yet to find a hairstyle that I feel is me. I can only keep trying. I am still waiting for my prime. I think it has come and gone, but one can only hope. Some days, I can actually say “What the hell”, and then others it frustrates me. I think that is normal for most people. Well – it is for me.
There was a day when I enjoyed seeing my reflection in a mirror or in a store window. I think this goes back to when I was 15 or 16. I was swimming laps every day after teaching classes at the YMCA pool. I could eat anything and it never showed up on my hips or anywhere else. I felt great and loved wearing the latest styles. My friends said I was too skinny but I didn’t care.
There is an old picture of me with a skimpy two-piece bikini walking on a beach somewhere in Door County carrying a big log. Don’t ask me why I was carrying the log. I was probably 12. Long legs, barely there cleavage. I was confident and carefree. That was the last time I was that confident and carefree in a bathing suit.
As the years passed and my body changed, developed and expanded, I tried to stay in control by dieting and covering up with over-sized shirts. I would think back to the picture as an ideal, a goal and image of what was once was AND what could/should be again.
Not so! I would never be twelve again! What made me think that I could have a pre-adolescent body again??? Hello!?!
I’ve thought over the years as I’ve dealt with life’s ups and downs…depression, divorce, infertility…that at least I exercise. I’ve felt that the process of moving my body and engaging in the PROCESS of exercise has kept me sane and out of the loony bin. The emotional and physical energy that it takes to lose weight or start a diet would be overwhelming. When I walk my dog, jog on the treadmill, or go all warrior in yoga, I am investing in my body image–an picture of me that is in my mind.
How many years has it been since I’ve worn a girl’s large? Huhmmm…40 years!
I will always have big boobs and a fluffy tummy (not even the result of child baring). But my image of the perfect body remains as a picture of the 12-year-old me.