So, I hope everyone had a nice holiday and now is time ("‘tis the season," one might even say, if one were annoying) for kvetching about how fat we are. When did this happen? And really, how old do I have to be to just stop caring? May I enter my stretch waistband years now, please?

I got really skinny in 2004-2005. I’m not anymore. My set point just isn’t skinny and that’s just too damn bad. Slender is too much work to maintain. I am upholstered. That’s all there is to it.

I’ve come to appreciate my upholstery but it’s such a slipperly slope to gelatinous, which I can’t embrace. The trick is exercise but goodgawdamighty I’m bored with exercise. I must draw on my every last ounce of willpower to keep any program going at all, and it’s not what it used to be. At least I walk Jack every day. Too bad he has no hustle in his (big, hairy) bustle. Our daily walk is not enough of a workout to keep me in fighting trim. Sometimes I sneak out without him for long fitness walks, but then I have to walk him anyway and that’s a lot of time spent walking.

I’ve been exercising so long, there is little chance that I’ll stop exercising altogether. But are long, frequent workouts how I want to spend my days at this point in my ever-shortening life? And if so, why? Loving my body or clutching at youth?

Well, maybe the desire will return. I’m not old yet.

And what about the grey in my hair? Am I ready to embrace it? Maintenance is getting annoying. I have this one spot…I’m thinking about a grey streak. Am I ready to embrace my badass midlife self?

Labels: fitness, midlife, personal growth