Very poor Alice Cooper reference ... tells you something about my age, huh? I keep telling myself that I’m simply not old enough for a mid-life crisis yet. After all, my 40's are still a couple of years away. The dictionary even gives this definition for mid-life, or middle age:middle age
n.
The time of human life between youth and old age, usually reckoned as the years between 40 and 60.
... and follows that with this definition of mid-life crisis ...
midlife crisis
n.
A period of psychological doubt and anxiety that some people experience in middle age.
So, I should have a few years right ... ?
I don’t know. Some days I just feel older than other days. The body aches more and more frequently for no apparent reason. Weird cracks and pops emanate from my body from time to time. I look in the mirror and have to admit that’s not the strapping young guy who used to smile back at me. "You’re alright," he used to say. What does he say now? "Jeez, what happened to you? You really let yourself go, huh?" That guy in the mirror ... one of these days I’m just gonna kick his ass. He’s a jerk!
Winter Fat
Last week I went to the doctor’s office (something I never did in my twenties) and was asked to step on the scale. "Do I have to?" I wondered to myself. The thing bounced back and forth for a while and wound up on ... well, I won’t divulge that here. Let’s just say it was a good fifteen pounds more than it was just three or four months ago. I should get an attorney to sue the manufacturers of the scale, right? Sue them for the pain and suffering I endure when I see that number pop up.
This is an annual phenomenon that has been occurring in my thirties. It seems that as the weather gets colder and colder, I get fatter and fatter. Just like a bear getting ready for hibernation season. Storing up all that fat to make it through the winter. Then shedding that fat (and fur ... I’ve been having a similar problem with that too, but we’ll discuss that another day) as the weather heats up. Like the bear, I shed the fat in the summer. I would like to point one thing out though ... even in the summer, have you ever seen a lean and mean bear with six-pack abs? Me either. Hmm.
Now this doesn’t really affect my sense of self-worth too much. Hey, it’s winter. It’s big baggy clothing season. Hardly anybody can really tell what a lard-ass I become each winter, right? Sure ... that’s what I tell myself too. But, unfortunately, I rarely wear that big baggy clothing in the shower. Hey, that’s not a bad idea. Sure would save trips to the laundromat.
Getting out of bed
What a dilemma getting out of bed each morning has become. It hasn’t always been this way. I remember a time when I didn’t even go to bed for days on end. And when I did, I would spring out in the morning ready to tackle the day’s challenges. This morning, however, was a different story. It’s gotten to the point that I set the alarm to go off a full two hours before I really need to get up ... and I spend two hours each morning hitting the snooze button (okay, slamming it violently) every ten minutes and then attempting to steal a few more minutes of sleep. I hate that alarm clock. Even more than I hate Nazis. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if Nazis invented the damn thing to begin with.
Once I’m out of bed, there’s another whole batch of issues. First comes the back pain. Like millions of other folks around the world, I suffer from occasional back pain. By "occasional," I mean "practically every freaking day." I do wonder if that pain stems from the severe tension and aggravation each morning as I slam that snooze button a dozen times or so. Next comes the leaden legs. As I swing them over the edge of the bed, they feel as though they weigh hundreds of pounds each. With all the winter fat I’ve put on, they may very well, but for this argument’s sake, let’s pretend they don’t. "Wow, I’m sore," I think to myself. And then I run through the previous day’s events to try to remember what I could have done to make my legs so sore. "Let’s see, I got up. Took a shower. Went to work. Sat at a desk for 8-10 hrs. Came home. Lounged on the couch and watched hours of mindless television. Nope! Nothing that could have worn my legs out."
Ah ... I can read your thoughts here. "Hey dude, you don’t get any exercise. That’s your problem." Thanks for your input. Next time, keep it to yourself. But, I have to admit, you’re right. I don’t. There was a time (again, here I am, the guy with the mid-life crisis fondly remembering his younger days) when I swam three to four hours a day, spent one hour lifting weights three times a week, played semi-professional baseball, spent my nights dancing and such. But now I have a real job and responsibilities that require I sit in front of a computer for hours and hours each day ... and then I spend my downtime ... eh ... in front of a computer writing this silly blog. Oh. You’re right. Maybe there is a pattern developing here.
More on my mid-life crisis later ... I’m gonna go do some push-ups now.
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