Getting Old Sucks


That’s news, right? I’m 41. I remember watching shows like “The Biggest Loser” and being incredulous at these crying, sobbing adults realizing the amount of energy they were lacking once they began doing things like …. ready for it? …. moving. Walking, running, cycling, anything. It was like a revelation to them that this lack of napping could be their lives. My husband and I would scoff and shout at the TV, “Seriously?!?! THAT is what brings you to tears on national television?!?”

Now here I sit. Tired, fantasizing about a quiet nap in a deserted house between my cozy flannel sheets with my fireplace going.

THAT is my fantasy these days. Day napping.

I’ve done the thing where I exercise. I’ve done the thing where I eat healthy. I expected an instant explosion of energy on a daily basis. It did not happen. Granted, I only managed these healthy habits for days at a time, but shit, come on man! That rabbit only chases the carrot when it knows how good it is. Put some chips and salsa on a stick, and i’ll chase that m-fer for days. Can you put a breakfast buffet in front of a treadmill?

I realize food being the only motivation is part of my failure plan. I get it. I will say therapy has helped tremendously with my reasons why I eat. Now I make bad choices because I like yummy food, not because I feel like it’s an emotional experience. The fault is still all mine. I don’t eat when I’m stressed quite as much, and I have identified when I need to to make better choices of what I emo-binge. I have learned to pace myself. But moving and sweating and heart elevating activities do not get my sloth body moving. The only thing that I don’t hate doing is swimming. I do enjoy swimming. We have a membership at a gym with a giant pool, so that’s something. Owning the card does not provide the energy to drive there, however.

So with the new year and everyone being overzealous about their resolutions, I’m just here on my couch finding new and exciting reasons to stay home. Laundry. Dishes. Vacuuming. I guess you could say on a positive note, at least I’m finally becoming domestic. The plus size domestic sloth. Sexy, right?

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