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What I did not expect was to feel my age. I am 42. This sounds, well up until recently, much older than I feel (and some would argue look). It’s just a number that honestly I don’t care much about. I accept the fact that I go to bed earlier and can’t sleep in. I accept the fact that those wrinkles appearing on my hands are not because it is cold. And while it was hard to hear Diane Sawyer last night on the news talk about the 25th anniversary of “We are the World” and the class of 1985 and realize “Hey! That’s me, I graduated from high school in 1985!” I can embrace my age.
But when my knees seemed to really feel the floor through the yoga mat and my wrists weren’t so excited about holding me up and complained. And when I laid down and felt lumpy and sore. And when I couldn’t get into a good child’s pose because of my boobs (ok well that has nothing to do with age…just big boobs) or my shoulders cracked louder and my neck complained a bit…well those made me feel all 42 years of my life in the yoga class.
And on the one hand I wasn’t so happy. I don’t know if it is the time of year or the weather or my age, but lately I feel tired and lumpy and achy. To the point, where I am concerned enough to have made a doctor’s appointment. Because I want to be sure, because there are clubs that I don’t necessarily want to join and if there are oddities in my body, I’d rather have a doctor tell me I was being silly than finding out something too late. I know too many people lately who suddenly have found something devastating happen to them or a loved one.
And heck, if it’s just normal aches and pains, I want to make sure to progress with them so in 50 years I am still here regaling you with them…
What age are you feeling?