So, for the second day in a row I have been acutely aware that I'm not a young thing anymore. It probably has a lot to do with the reality of my achy creaking joints. And the weather. I seriously never anticipated being one of those people that could sit in a rocking chair on the porch and predict the weather via the throbbing in their big toe. And sadly, I suspect that in my mid 40's I'm right on track to be forecasting quite accurately for the next 40 years. And that's depressing.
I was doing so well with my new resolve to make healthier choices and exercise regularly when the weather suddenly decided it had been slacking off with winter and renewed itself with a vengeance. Now my knees feel like someone takes them apart while I'm sleeping and then reassembles them without looking moments before I try to get up each morning. The hobbling really isn't a good look - especially cocooned in winter gear trying to walk a dog in the dark when the dog is trying to use only 3 of his 4 feet at any given time so he doesn't have to step on the frigid ground and possibly fuse his pads to the ice. And I refuse to put contact lenses in at that time of the morning, so I have to leave my glasses home because the inch of space I can peer through makes them ice over in seconds. And as the inside of my nose goes crispy with each breath I can't help but ask myself, "What on earth am I doing? Who was the moron that decided people could adapt to this?"
I have always truthfully told myself that the universe was definitely in order when it decreed that I was born in the latter part of the 20th century with indoor plumbing, central heating, electricity, and so on. I am definitely not pioneer material. The first bad storm would have sent me straight to my grave in all likelihood.
Perhaps I'm a wee bit whiny about my lot...all I know is that I miss the days when I could just get up and go and not even realize that it was a big deal to have such luxury. Curse my immaturity. Not really. Anyway, it's days like these that have me fantasizing about spring, and balmy breezes, and becoming a snowbird someday. Heck, I'd do it now if it was even remotely possible. It's not. Oh well.
So I'll have to find ways to delude myself for about 4 months or so that it's really not that bad. And hopefully the pathetic limp will shape up in a week or two when my body decides it can adapt to subarctic conditions. We'll see.
Youth is a disease from which we all recover. ~Dorothy Fulheim
I was doing so well with my new resolve to make healthier choices and exercise regularly when the weather suddenly decided it had been slacking off with winter and renewed itself with a vengeance. Now my knees feel like someone takes them apart while I'm sleeping and then reassembles them without looking moments before I try to get up each morning. The hobbling really isn't a good look - especially cocooned in winter gear trying to walk a dog in the dark when the dog is trying to use only 3 of his 4 feet at any given time so he doesn't have to step on the frigid ground and possibly fuse his pads to the ice. And I refuse to put contact lenses in at that time of the morning, so I have to leave my glasses home because the inch of space I can peer through makes them ice over in seconds. And as the inside of my nose goes crispy with each breath I can't help but ask myself, "What on earth am I doing? Who was the moron that decided people could adapt to this?"
I have always truthfully told myself that the universe was definitely in order when it decreed that I was born in the latter part of the 20th century with indoor plumbing, central heating, electricity, and so on. I am definitely not pioneer material. The first bad storm would have sent me straight to my grave in all likelihood.
Perhaps I'm a wee bit whiny about my lot...all I know is that I miss the days when I could just get up and go and not even realize that it was a big deal to have such luxury. Curse my immaturity. Not really. Anyway, it's days like these that have me fantasizing about spring, and balmy breezes, and becoming a snowbird someday. Heck, I'd do it now if it was even remotely possible. It's not. Oh well.
So I'll have to find ways to delude myself for about 4 months or so that it's really not that bad. And hopefully the pathetic limp will shape up in a week or two when my body decides it can adapt to subarctic conditions. We'll see.
Youth is a disease from which we all recover. ~Dorothy Fulheim
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