I am coming apart at the seams. Or so it seems.
It’s hard, this whole getting older thing. I mean, I know we do it from the moment we are born. And yet? Unlike the whole “practice makes perfect” adage, it does not seem to matter how much we age, we don’t get better at it. In fact, it seems to get more difficult, not easier.
I’m not even that old. Well, at least that is what I tell myself.
But I have reached the part of my life wherein I must take greater care of myself. Pay more attention to what I do, what I eat, how I feel. Listen more to advice from my doctors. Fight against things that I can no longer control. And, despite how my brain feels about me, my body is all SCREW YOU LADY I HAVE BEEN AT THIS AWHILE AND FRANKLY I’M GETTING FUCKING TIRED OF YOUR NONSENSE.
It sucks, honestly.But this is the way it is, for all of us. You get older, and things start to break or break down or ache or just don’t work as well as they should.
I’ve been trying to fight battles on a number of fronts for awhile now, and it’s not been terribly successful. I’ve been trying to lose weight, and eat better, and exercise more. Except as you get older, it gets harder to get any results in this arena. So you have to try harder, and this is not necessarily a good thing.
Let me illustrate.
I have a Fat Bastard Lazy No-Good Liver, yes? I believe we talked about this last year. And so I have to lose weight. Okay. Fair enough. So, I embarked upon a journey of more exercise, and eating better, and all that rot.
And a year later, I weigh probably more than I did then.
So I have taken on a dietitian’s advice, and I meet with her each month to eat better and less (and more, because of hunger and nutritional needs). I get on the Dreadmill and jog and walk, and I lift weights, and I walk my kid to school every day, and I do yoga some mornings, and I signed up to play badminton for a couple of hours each week.
And I am still fat. With the added bonus of being injured and feeling sore in a number of places.
Last year, my knees were the problem. This year, I have a pinched nerve (or a problem with my rotator cuff; the jury is out) in one shoulder, which means I can’t sit up straight or lean forward without pain and pins and needles in my arm. I have really sore achilles tendons in both feet, which means going from stationary (sitting) to walking (getting up out of a chair, getting out of the car) is stiff and painful. So I can’t do yoga (weight bearing on my shoulder) or lift weights (duh) or play badminton (again, duh). And getting up on the treadmill kind of scares me, to be honest. But I have to do something.
And the most annoying of recent days, just sitting at the table or in my desk chair to work is challenging and uncomfortable because of shoulder pain. Which makes working problematic, and sitting down to dinner a very quick process.
Right now, I’m sitting in an Ikea lounge chair with a heating pad and a laptop. It works for the time being, but it’s not terribly portable.
But on the plus side… massage therapy tomorrow! So, that’s nice, right?
Still, what aggravates me the most is that, inside, I am Not That Woman. Inside, I am ready to exercise and jog and do the fitness thing. As the saying goes, or more likely, to badly paraphrase the saying… the spirit is willing, but the body is weak.
And leaving aches and pains aside, I am struggling with motivation just on the basis of not being able to see any changes. I want to lose a lot of weight, and can’t. I want to be fit, and can’t. I want to be healthier, and I am probably not much more than before.
It is frustrating and disheartening.
I want to be better.
Instead, I am falling apart. I am feeling like I am failing. And I am tired of the effort it is taking.
But you can’t really quit, can you. I mean, if you are like me, you look at your family members and you think, I want to be here with them as long and as happily as I possibly can. So you keep trying. Or you keep trying to keep trying.
But it gets harder to motivate myself. It gets more challenging to get moving. It gets more difficult to choose wisely.
That chocolate is looking way better than that dried fruit, I can tell you.
But you can’t just quit. Or, eventually, your body will do it for you. So I won’t. At least, not today. I make no promises about tomorrow.