It’s All Going South
The worst thing about turning 40 and getting ever closer to the BIG 5-0? Realising those who had been there before me were right. I’d spent many a happy hour listening to my slightly older friends regaling tales of how things change when you hit the big 4.0. or the big 5.0. and thinking “Yeah right. It won’t happen to me”
Age 45 I had a kind of Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder pecking away when things got tough. Turn 45 Jiminy was banished to the side line to be replaced by the teacher from Kids From Fame (who’s name escapes me) bashing a stick on the ground saying “Right here’s where you start paying…….In sweat” Oh. What’s her name? It’s not Mrs Berg. She was the receptionist. Or Sharovski. He was the music teacher. I could Google it but I like a challenge.
So, before the plans for my 50th start in earnest – well I like to plan early, it happens…..
I start to sprout hair in areas that were once so smooth (toes, chin and nose for a start!) And for some reason the washing machine that has served you well for the last 5 years is starting to shrink my clothes. Or is it? The answer is of course NO. The clothes aren’t getting smaller. I am getting bigger. I also wee more….lots more. I have a pillow for by knees to help my back as well as trying to invent a pillow that would stop my boobs disappearing when lying down (well you have dog beds why not booby beds?).
When my lovely blonde lock start sprouting grey hairs that look like I have a head of pubic hair….it was the last straw and I decided it’s time to get even and stage a fight back. Or more likely time to get fit.
So the chance to do a sprint triathlon with a couple of hockey mates was discussed (in a pub after quite a few beers – in the days when I could still have a few beers). For those of you not aware Sprint tri’s are massively popular because usually there is no open water swim. (I really don’t fancy a paddle in Markeaton Lake) So it’s 400m swim in a pool followed by the cycle and run. The three of us trained hard (ish) and turned up on the morning full of enthusiasm and expectation. Before anyone can embark on such an ordeal there is the safety / rules briefing. Very informative. Most valuable lesson being no stripping off after the swim in transition as nudity is definitely not allowed. It hadn’t occurred to me until that point that I would have to cycle in my wet swimmers. But massive thanks to the guy who gave the briefing or I could have become one of the many postings on YouTube of folk who bare all in public to avoid chafing on a bicycle seat. The conversations I have had with fellow cyclists and runners on chafing is unbelievable and deserve its own blog (next one sorted then). Talc, jelly, oils, padding, to poo before or during a run… nothing it seems is out of bounds and have all been up for discussion on rides and runs.
My time could have been improved had I not dried my feet with a lovely fluffy towel after the swim, or maybe brushing my hair and applying make-up could have saved me some precious seconds but nevertheless, I am proud of the 3 tri’s I have done and every year have improved my time. My aim is to beat my own time each year I get older, how long that can last, I have no idea – but rest assured I will try and I’ll keep you posted.
The keep fit thing will always be ever present in my life. I’m not brilliant at anything but love to do lots of sports - I still play hockey. Go mountain biking. Run. Ski. (Love that it makes me sound so sporty but I can assure you I’m very very average at them all). But all of this is hampered by one major flaw. My back. On the whole it works like a back should. It stands upright. Allows me to bend and touch my toes. Even dance uncontrollably to Will Smith’s Boom Shake the Room on hockey tour. But sometimes it bites back. Only the other day the little monster snapped. I’d vacuumed the house from top to toe, as you do, but the next morning I rolled out of bed (those of you who have experienced bad backs will totally get the morning bed roll) and I was walking like an old lady who needed to use the nearest toilet. Not pretty. Really frustrating and will I assume it gets worse the older I get.
So what can we learn from all the above? Those who have experience we should listen to and draw from their wise advice? Maybe….but those same ladies are now filling my head with stories of their menopause which apparently will be here before I know it (an expression usually relating to Christmas which right now seems WAY more preferable). Or. I need a cleaner.
Got it. Miss Munroe. Get in.