Disconnect

It’s really sinking in now. I’m 59 fucking years old.

I believe what’s underscored this “yur no spring kitten anymore” shit is this – twice this month, TWICE, my back’s gone wonky after slightly, way slightly, increasing my weights at the gym. This NEVA happened to me at 30 AND, fuck man, recovery takes a hell of a lot longer than it used to.

I’ve been good too – only very gentle stretching since Tuesday. Still, I'm tellin' you right now – this blows serious bantha wang. I feel better, mentally and physically, I sleep better and just generally function a whole lot gooder when I exercise regularly. Today WILL BE a gym day, dammit.

So yeah, I’m stuck in featherweight lifting land for the looooong forseeable future but that, according to all the sites I looked at, is the way I should be lifting anyway.

The other strong indicator of having reached secondary fermentation, I shake more. You know, like someone with Parkinson’s only I don’t have that. Mine comes courtesy of my last huge brain do up – it’s nerve damage and, as I approach my sell by date, it becomes more pronounced.

Joy. It’s no big really but the tremors make me feel old. Yeah, I know *whine, snivel, kvetch.*

My mind feels stronger than ever. I’ve lost most (all? //grins//) of my neurotic habits, my rage is under control (or, at least, I channel it in healthier ways), I generally think before leaping now and I’m as creative as ever (if slower). I feel fucking nimble but this body I’m walking around in is decidely not. NO FAIR!

Shouldn’t this mind/body relationship be reversed? Ya know, mental evolution increases with age (for a lot of us). Physical evolution should as well. Right? I ought to be Wonder Woman by now, dammit. In a just world that would SO be the case!

Though I’ve always been active-ish, since my beloved TAB shuffled off this mortal coil, I’ve become a serious dieting, gym frequenting fool. Given the motherfucking Nf2, I’ll never be Sister Madonna Buder (the Iron Nun – Jesus, what an inspiration!) BUT I can at least head off a whole slew of other slings and arrows of outrageous aging.

I've learned other life lessons along the way, but the ones that I'd look back and tell my twenty something self now are: It's not what you say, it's what you do; don't pay attention to how old you are, only focus on how old you feel.
~ The Iron Nun 

Me?  Like I said before, I hit the pause button at 40. My buddy Jim always used to tell me that no one's really an adult until they hit 40. So then, I'm just now embarking on adulthoodedness – right?