i surrender. that's it. i give in to gravity, inertia, forgetfulness, misplaced (and misspent) vanity, and exhaustion. to these gods and demi gods i offer sacrifices in the form of aching, insomnia, laziness, squinting, and the awful noises that come out of my mouth whenever i have to get out of or into a low chair quickly...and they really are the stuff of legends. oh, i also offer up the multitudes of "excuse me?" that i use CONSTANTLY because i can HEAR the words that are said, but can't quite understand them.
as i type these words (of course, squinting at the screen AND the keys), i am rolling my foot back and forth on a bottle of frozen water. see, i have developed plantar fasciitis (it is TOO a word!), and this is a way of stretching the tendon while cutting down on the swelling and pain. All my life i have had MASSIVE calf muscles...disproportionately so...i'm talking incredible-hulk-sticking-out-of-those-torn-purple-pants-calves. trust me, i'm not happy about it. as i've gotten older, the muscles have gotten less and less flexible, hence, the inflammation of the tendon connecting calf to heel to toes.
so...
i am now relegated to being one of those goblins at the gym who trudges past the happy runners on the treadmill (gazing wistfully at them as i pass), past the iron-abbed vixens on the stair-masters, and even past the herculean works of art on the ellipticals and descends into the murky depths of...THE BICYCLES!!! (dun-dun-DUN!!!)
add to that the fact that on my FIRST NIGHT HOME, i went for an evening run that i have done literally hundreds of times before, and about half a mile in, i tripped. I TRIPPED OVER A CRACK IN THE SIDEWALK. no, seriously, i did. because it was dark-ish, i didn't see one stone plate was higher and snagged the toe of my running shoe. i landed on one knee, one elbow, and my face, and...well, you've SEEN the pictures. clutching what i was certain was a broken elbow (it wasn't), i shuffled and tried to catch my breath, making these "unnnnnhhh-unnnnnnnhhhhh" sort of groaning sounds. for all intents and purposes, i was making the exact noises of my worst, apocalyptic-zombie infested nightmares. not pretty. (in fairness to me, i forced myself to run two more miles before dragging my sorry a** home.)
i had my 38th birthday recently (oddly enough, my mother only had her 40th. figure THAT one out), and have found lots of things changing. i can't go past a mirror without doing a wrinkle-and-freckle check. when i wake up in the morning, i have to wiggle my feet and toes so that my ankles don't pop when i get out of bed. i can't drink anything after 11 p.m., lest i have to get up in the middle of the night to pee (of course, with the foot and toe-wiggling beforehand). i have traded red bulls for herbal tea, bubble gum and candy for glucosamine and chondroitin, and having fun looking for funky nail polish colors for getting frustrated looking for the most effective "eye lifting" serum (SIDENOTE: a pox on you, lancome and julia-fricken' roberts for LYING and perpetuating the myth of unattainable youth and beauty with your photoshopping shenanigans!)
i have trouble believing that just four years ago, i was running 8-10 miles a day (A DAY!!!) without pain of any kind. i guess i should take comfort in the fact that, in a few years, i'll probably have trouble REMEMBERING that i used to do that. bleah. but just when i think i'm going to give up, just when i think finished and prepare myself for (as warren zevon puts it ) "a quiet normal life" of cardigan sweaters, checking sodium levels on food packages, 50 cats, and no television, just when i'm ready to purchase a rocking chair, i look over at my mom, who is ABLE to work that treadmill...tiny valkyrie of gym and home...with a sheen of sweat and a determined grimace on her brow and think...
...just maybe.
