June 25th, 2011
It is becoming increasingly apparent to me that the universe wants me to accept something: that I am Middle Aged.
This week has been busy as hell, and I’m completely worn out. My three year old even let me sleep in until 9 this morning (and I literally can not remember the last time I slept in that long, literally) and I still feel like a weak, tired old lady. This week I started working with a personal trainer, doing a mix of cardio and strength training. She’s very good, I feel like I got a good balance in and I’m pressing my limits. But four solid workouts later, I feel pretty bad. Not better. Not more energetic. This, after five weeks of diligent work on the treadmill. Not better, and I sure as h-e-double-toothpicks have not lost any weight. In fact, I had to change my “ticker” to raise my weight by a few pounds. That part is because I finally shelled out for a more accurate scale, but still, I don’t seem to have lost more than a pound or two since this whole thing started.
Is this middle age? Is that what’s going on here? Maybe it has more to do with going off the drugs; maybe my body seriously wants to pack on the pounds, like a lot of people do when they transition off of antidepressants. Maybe this struggle has been a struggle to stay normal, all along, and I didn’t know it because I actually wanted to get better. I don’t know. In short, this is all getting kind of frustrating.
But getting older is frustrating. When you’re thinking about weight and dieting, you’re building on all this experience that says that if you work hard, discipline yourself, do the right things … you will get better. Be healthier. Be prettier. Wear nicer clothes, be more confident, and have people treat you better. But aging doesn’t work that way. Aging is not reversible. You can mitigate some of the effects, for a while, but you will get old, you will get ugly, it will not go away.