Who’s Middle Aged? Oh, I Guess That Would Be Me

 

I ran toward the target, preparing to kick it across the room if I could. I turned to make the kick, and suddenly I found myself crashing hard to the floor on my ass. What the heck? I thought, as my foot began to throb. Embarrassed, I got to my feet and limped into position, changing places so that the back and forth could continue. One of the instructors called me on it, and made me sit out the rest of class. I was not happy, but this too shall pass, I thought.

My foot swelled two sizes, and I google-diagnosed a strained ligament. No worry, I’ll just rest, ice it, take ibuprofen. I’ll be back to the Taekwondo in a matter of weeks. I limped around the grocery store the next day and limped around the neighborhood in the rain two nights later, because it was Halloween, and the kids can’t be disappointed. I ended up limping around for about six months.

During that time, my workout took a beating, as did my Taekwondo. One of the few things I could still do well was lift weights, though. And then my shoulder began to hurt in midwinter. Having learned my lesson from my still-recovering foot, I went to the doctor, who diagnosed bursitis. Bursitis. Isn’t that something that old people get? What’s next? Arthritis? Hip surgery?

Having hit my apex of physical fitness in my early 40s, I wasn’t ready to concede my age. I would continue, dammit. I would persevere. And I did. And so did my foot injury.

In addition to my physical problems, I decided to try a change in my antianxiety medication. I had put on more weight than I was comfortable with. There had to be a better way, I thought. I tried Wellbutrin, which was a lot like going from marijuana to cocaine. Oh, I have energy again! Hallelujah! Except that it didn’t really do anything for my anxiety, which came creeping back in until I had a fantastically ginormous panic attack that put me in urgent care. Yay. Now I’m on Cymbalta, which seems to work just fine, although I haven’t lost a pound. But I did gain perspective:  I can be skinny with panic attacks, or I can be heavier and feel good. Point taken.

I mentioned all of this to a good friend of mine, and her primary comment was, “I thought you looked pretty good, actually.” Huh. Was I being just too hard on myself? Was I using an erroneous lens? Was I seeing a fat person because that’s what my mother would see? I was beginning to understand how an anorexic can look in the mirror and see something completely divorced from reality. I started to observe other women my age and older. I saw all body types, but one thing I noticed for certain is that none of them were “perfect.” I figured out, finally, that I have to change my opinion about what I’m looking at when I look in the mirror.

Some people may, possibly, have used the word “stubborn” when describing me. I always say I’m 21 in my head, and most people probably think that way. In fact, I’ve noticed that 99% of women tend to keep the same hairstyle they had in high school. Then I noticed that I was one of those. Oops. But I still saw myself as young and vivacious and carefree. I’m still vivacious and carefree, but not so young. My foot is not healed. It probably never will be, quite. I could be stubborn and continue, or… I could be a bit more sensible and quit the Taekwondo. The bursitis went away when I stopped doing my rather extensive bicep routine with the free weights. My body was talking, and it was time to listen.

All right, I’m middle aged. If I live another 47 years, I’ll be 94. Fine. I have to accept some new limitations, in a way. On the other hand, I feel less limited in other ways. I got my tattoo four years ago. And I finally got up the courage to do what I would’ve liked to have done with my hair in high school:  I cut it, and then I colored it. I’m a real blue-hair now!

asha_blue2

All right, some of it’s washed out in this picture. But I have more dye! I just have to do the kids’ hair first.

It’s true that I can’t quite do everything I used to be able to do. I wish I could’ve done Taekwondo when I was in my 20s. On the other hand, it’s true that you cease to care about what other people think about you as you get older. And that is freedom, my friends. Who was it who said that youth is wasted on the young? I think that’s what they mean. Go out there and live loud, ya’ll, no matter how old (or young) you are.

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestShare on Google+Share on RedditEmail this to someone

Leave a Reply