When Did I Get Old?

This morning I woke up a little before 7am, just like clockwork.  No alarm needed.  I got out of bed, let the dogs out, opened up the chicken coop and made my way back into bed.  It’s Sunday.  I wanted to sleep in.  I should have known better.  After an hour of laying in bed watching the morning news, I decided going back to sleep wasn’t going to happen.  So, I got up, made my bed and headed straight for the coffee pot. 

As I waited for my coffee to brew, I reached up into my medicine cabinet and took my multivitamin.  After I enjoyed my morning brew, I got dressed and headed to the gym.  80 minutes later (today was cardio day) I headed back home.  When I got home it was time to take my daily pill.  I reached back into the medicine cabinet.  I started prepping dinner, had some chicken chores outside to take care of, vacuumed and dusted the house.  At this point it was only 1pm.  I figured with nothing left on my agenda, I’d jump in the shower.  I headed to the bathroom to take a shower when halfway there I remembered that I have a lumbar injection tomorrow morning.  At that point I smiled.  Then laughed out loud.  It was also when I realized – I’m a 60-year-old woman.  When did this happen? 

Let me take you back to Friday.  Friday, my dad and I went to a Morehead City Marlins game.  It was a father-daughter date night.  On the way to the field dad told me he tried looking up someone on Facebook and he said, “They must not be a Facebook user.”  I replied back, “Yeah, this younger generation doesn’t really use Facebook.  They are more of Snapchat and Instagram users.”  My dad started laughing and repeated my, “This younger generation” in a mocking way.  Laughing, I looked at him and said, “Seriously, dad, I can admit I am not young anymore.  But my generation is probably the last that uses Facebook for social media and connections.” 

Fast forward 15 minutes when we pulled into the Michael’s parking lot.  I needed something from inside.  Dad turned off the truck and followed me in.  I went straight to the yarn aisle.  I was there no more than 3 minutes when I hear my dad yelling, “Hey old lady, hurry up and pick out your yarn.”

Well, there you go ladies and gentlemen:  My 65-year-old dad called me old.  And he got quite the kick out of it. 

Then, on Saturday, while I was at a friend’s house, her daughter wanted to show me the redecorating she was doing in her room.  We went up to her room and asked my opinion on a few things.  She sleeps on a twin bed and was trying to figure out what to do when she had guests sleep over.  As I was giving her some ideas, she looked at her loveseat, chair and ottoman she got from me a few months back and said, “Or they could just sleep here.”  The look I gave her must have warranted an explanation because she just stared at me when I finally replied, “Well, you are young.  Young people can sleep anywhere.  But there is no way I would be comfortable there.  My back would be killing me.”  After that comment I had to laugh at myself.  “Wow.  I just said that.  I’m old!”

So here I am.  35 years old.  I take daily multivitamins.  I workout every day despite chronic back problems.  And for this I purchased a $3,000 Tempur-Pedic mattress 3 years ago and receive regular injections in my back.  I go to bed around 9pm every night.  And I’ve recently started crocheting.  Personally, I think I am trendy, hip and fashionable.  But I’ve come to discover, if you call yourself “hip” you are probably old. 

Hi.  My name’s Anne.  I’m not as young as I used to be.  When did this happen?

Cheaper Than Therapy

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For me, going to the gym is therapeutic.  It doesn’t matter what kind of day I have; the gym is always there for me to vent and let it all out.  I work out about 5-6 times a week (I would go 7 days a week, but I must force myself, for my body’s sake, to take a rest day).  Some days I need to get out of my head and stop worrying about things. There are also days I am mad, angry, even hulk-like.  Then, there are days when I’m on an emotional roller coaster holding back tears or fighting the urge to scream and yell.  Then again, I also have days when I’m feeling like a certified bad ass *insert Wonder Woman* and feel there isn’t anything stopping me.  It doesn’t matter which kind of day I have, being in the gym is my happy place. 

I put my ear buds in, crank up my workout playlist on my iPhone, and let it all out.

I go at it hard (minus the grunting and clanging of weights – I don’t want Planet Fitness to sound the ‘Lunk’ alarm on me) and forget my troubles.  It works.  Every.  Damn.  Time.  The best part is, I don’t have to be social.  I go to the gym to workout; Not to make friends or socialize.  In fact, when people try and talk to me at the gym, it annoys me.  This is MY time.  I don’t get much of it, so leave me alone – Please and Thank You. 

The gym isn’t my only means of letting out stress.  Sitting in my backyard watching my backyard flock of chickens is my version of meditation.  It is nearly impossible to get mad or upset while watching 18 chickens with 18 different personalities cluck, peck, and scratch their way around.  I could sit there for hours. Sometimes, I sit there imagining what it would be like to be a chicken.  I mean, hell, mine are so darn spoiled. 

I might be better off as a chicken in my next life. (hee hee)

Meditation works for some people.  I have tried it many times: you know, the whole sitting in a quiet place with no distractions, focused on your breathing thing?  It does not work for me.  It doesn’t feel natural and I just can’t seem to relax my mind. Some people are able to meditate with great ease.  I envy them and their ability to recharge in such a peaceful way.  But that’s OK. I found what works for me.  When I sit and watch my backyard flock, I can relax my mind and enjoy my surroundings.  Even, if only for a little while. 

*NOTE:  I am NOT discouraging people from seeking help.  I fully support talking to a counselor or seeking help from a chaplain and/or medical or clinical professional.  In fact, I have talked to a professional on more than one occasion since the age of 17.  However, I fully support the notion: find what works best for YOU!  There is no one-size-fits-all when it comes to taking care of you.