A Moldy Oldie

H

itting the big 5-Oh–I am learning oh so painfully–has its physiological drawbacks. My knees ache. My back hurts. Even my jaws don’t do as I ask. I now have to do jaw stretches. For someone who talks as much as I do, you’d think that this was unnecessary, but that is not the case. I must perform a new pre-meal ritual before I eat: I open my mouth wide, and shift my jaw from left to right as I slowly close my mouth. I do this about three to five times, depending on the time of day. Oh well…

But stiff joints are easy to deal with. A little stretching and I’m good to go. Weight management, on the other hand, is quite a different proposition. Once upon a time, losing weight was just a matter of making up my mind. I gotta lose five pounds by the weekend, I would determine, and after a couple of skipped meals and a few hours of running, Shezam! five pounds gone.

Okay, maybe it didn’t disappear as easily as an Arabian Night-esque exclamation, but it sure feels like it in hindsight. But remember, at my age, I have to squint really hard when I look back on thirty years of hindsight. *sigh*

In any event, I now have to work extra hard to lose weight… ANY weight. I must watch my diet–no more midnight cookies and potato chips and chocolate and peanuts. I usually need energy to finish my grading, y’know? And more work outs. I must run and run and run. Of course, the weight wouldn’t be so bad if it was muscle mass, but such is not the case. So I must also begin lifting weights again. This flabby body is ungainly and unsightly and I am definitely growing what seems to be the beginnings of jowls. Ugh.

This past Memorial Day Weekend, I ran everyday for about 30 to 50 minutes. On Thursday, I lifted some weights as well: bench press, butterflies, shoulder press, high pulley, french press and arm curls. By Friday afternoon, my triceps and pecs were killing me. When I tried to run, the jiggling made them hurt even more. As I pressed my hands against my chest, all I could think was, Do women’s sports bras prevent boobs from jiggling too much? I wonder what the largest size is?

JUST KIDDING! Well, about the second question, at least…

Enough of the physiological part. Psychologically, I am just as old, but perhaps a bit more well adjusted. This is the one part of aging that has its advantages. We grow and we learn and we make better decisions–although as my last post made clear, it still takes me time to have some of the more important revelations. Still, I feel happy to be who I am–minus a few dozen pounds–and I am at hear a man of the 60s as seen in the following quiz I found on Starberri‘s site.

You Belong in 1965
If you scored…

1950 – 1959: You’re fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in!

1960 – 1969: You are a free spirit with a huge heart. Love, peace, and happiness rule – oh, and drugs too.

1970 – 1979: Bold and brash, you take life by the horns. Whether you’re partying or protesting, you give it your all!

1980 – 1989: Wild, over the top, and just a little bit cheesy. You’re colorful at night – and successful during the day.

1990 – 1999: With you anything goes! You’re grunge one day, ghetto fabulous the next. It’s all good!

What Year Do You Belong In?

Yes, I probably belong in the 60s, smack dab in the middle. Make love not war. Get out of Vietnam. Man, for that matter, let’s get out of Iraq. I’d hate to have to break out my old tie-dyed shirt. Just kidding. I was too young to be involved in the anti-war demonstrations back then. But I’m not too young now. Maybe too old, but not too young…

Peace and Love all!

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