I don’t exercise for looks. At forty, I’ve realized looks are fleeting and chasing my former self is a waste of time. I’m over the early morning, double take, gasps in the mirror.
I do it for the energy. Call it self-medicating. What a sweet, limited, valuable commodity energy is, especially when you have three overactive kids, a hungry husband, a job, a messy house and a social life. There are artificial means of getting it of course, but I’ve found they are cheap imitations, with disappointing side effects.
Exercise seems to work best but somewhere in the last year, I’ve crossed an invisible threshold. The same amount of exercise exhausts me. A year ago, it felt like sticking that swing jump landing and running off to conquer the monkey bars. Now it’s more like hopping off at the wrong time resulting in an epic face plant.
I get it. I’m getting old. I’ll start modifying to find just the right dosage. Today, maybe just fifteen minutes of cardio to see where I land. Hopefully, right smack into that bright red bull’s-eye of productivity. My Easter to-do list is a long one.
Happy Easter!... my friends.
Michelle A
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