Pooped anyone?

It’s been an insanely busy few days and I’m wiped out. It appears the old adage about the spirit being willing but the flesh is weak is true. Living with it however, is a huge pain in the ass, among other parts. My back, my abs, thighs and all kinds of places are turning into a bad game show. Welcome to another episode of ‘What Hurts Now?!’ or Monday, as it’s more commonly known. My father used to tell me, ‘It could be worse, you could have a kid your age’. There’s no comeback for that. My father was a horrible smartass.

I’ve often said that raising a child is a younger woman’s sport. This would have been easier on my body at 38 but not 48. When my spouse and I were younger, we had more energy but no money. Now that we’re older, we have the money but everyone’s exhausted. I’m not necessarily sorry. You can’t help when you meet a person and starting our family took time, mostly because we got a late start.

Some, or rather most, of this is my fault. I blame it on an undiagnosed mental illness of some kind but the roots are deep and complicated. Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth and I was in my twenties, I became a gym rat. I started mostly because I was dating another gym rat but also because I have had a horrible chocolate habit probably since birth. If I didn’t tip the scales in my favor, I’d be tipping the scales. So far, I’ve managed to come close to breaking even. Why only coming close? The best I can figure out is because, as a woman, my body is too goddamn efficient. Every calorie seems to be spent as carefully as me roaming a grocery store with a fist full of coupons. Having a baby also leaves you permanently screwed literally and figuratively. My spouse, on the other hand, can get a workout just squeezing out a fart. I also don’t weigh myself. No matter it says I’m not going to like it, so why bother?

This gets even more fun as I think about the downward slide of results from my time at the gym and all the rabbit food in between. In my twenties, like most of us, I could eat like a farm animal and just burn it off. In my thirties, it was largely the same thing but the specter of moderation began to rear it’s ugly head. Now, the bastard sits right next to me like the gestapo. I have to sweat and damn near kill myself every workout to get close to the same results I did before, forget getting any smaller. I’m not expecting my fifties to get any better.

One may ask why go through all this aggravation? Simply put, I am trying to avoid our health care system like the plague. I watch my mom go through enough health issues and she’s a moderately active person. How much worse would it be if she were sedentary? The medications, the joint issues, the back problems and the unauthorized peeing are too much fun for humans. Getting older is a royal pain in the ass, especially when there’s a disconnect between your body and your brain. Why am I so exhausted after only half a yard of raking? Was it this bad last year? Why can’t I remember? It’s already frustrating when I forget why the hell I walked into a room but in a few years it’ll get downright disconcerting. Aging is of course, unavoidable. I just wish feeling it wouldn’t suck.