Before you even have a chance to form a judgmental thought, I want to cut you off at the pass. This is not a fairly youngish person complaining about how OLD she is. Oh GAWD, 23! I’m so OLD! Shutup. When one alcoholic beverage results in a full-day hangover, then you can complain about how old you are.
Which brings me to my point: I know I’m not old in number. But I’m really starting to feel old. In my bones. In my muscles. In my inability to work up to a baseline level of energy that can sustain me through the day.
I’m craving midday naps. I’m refilling the coffee and resorting to Red Bull (and then dealing with the sharp, shameful Red Bull come-down about an hour after consumption). I’m heavy-lidded and red-eyed on a regular basis (and not for the fun reason). Just constantly dragging ass.
A couple nights ago, I was in a playful mood so I started chasing Lucas around the bed. Then I switched it up and had him chase me. Little dude is fast. In order to stay ahead of him, I really had to haul, throwing myself on the bed in a dive roll, kicking off the side of the bed and peeling around the corner. Three times around the bed and I had to stop because I was getting dizzy.
Mama had to catch her breath. And as I lay there wheezing, my son tugging on the arm to get back up, this conversation played out:
Leg muscles: What the fuck are you doing?
Brain: Well, I just wanted to play with my son. He’s got so much energy and I thought…
Leg muscles: Oh you thought? You really weren’t thinking. We don’t DO stuff like that.
Brain, registering hot, searing pain: Hey! What are you doing?
Leg muscles: Oh, you like that? Huh? Huh? See how it feels!
Brain: Dudes, seriously, it was just three times around the bed.
Leg muscles: Well, three times around the bed is three times too much. Suck it.
I think the old feeling has a lot to do with the fact that I’m in terrible physical shape. I’m not saying I’m fat. I’m just saying I’m out of shape. There’s a difference.
…though I have put on 10 lbs since I started working at Malwarebytes.
So here we go ahead. It’s round 50,000 of the “Let’s go on a diet and work out/aka let’s be miserable and starving all day” dance. It’s always shitty at the start. But I know the end result could shave a few years off how old I really feel. Because while I may look like this:
I feel like this: