I’m in the absolute best shape of my life.
It’s an obnoxious thing to say, but hey, it’s true. Every morning, my reflection in the mirror brings a double-take. First, it’s “Whoa, that’s me!” and then, “I’d tap that.”
Ah, the sweet scent of vanity.
I’ve always maintained a relatively healthy lifestyle, but I’ve started to pack on a few extra pounds of fluff over the years. At times, I’ve gone longer without going to the gym. Or I would half-ass the workouts.
Something clicked in my head as I hit 48 last September. Maybe it was the realization that my warranty might be running out soon.
I invested in some workout routines and rekindled my romance with the gym. My partner and I also shook hands on a new eating plan.
Don’t worry, we are still eating hella good.
Now that I’m older, I must be deliberate in maintaining the one body I was issued at birth. Apparently, they don’t do exchanges or refunds.
This body carries my big, beautiful, creative brain. I need it in top-notch condition to keep the creative juices flowing.
Plus, I’m feeling great, sleeping like a log, and hey, the new me has left my partner’s jaw on the floor. She always had a thing for me, but now? She can’t keep her hands off of me.
Yes, vanity does have its perks.
But just as I was strutting my stuff, the universe decided to pitch me a knuckleball– my knees started sounding like a bowl of Rice Krispies—snap, crackle, pop.
A quick dash to the doctor, and boom – a torn meniscus in both knees. BOTH KNEEES!
Talk about a reality check. I didn’t half-ass that.
Well, I’ve had my little pity party, and now I’m gearing up for the next steps. I’m benched for the moment, but you wait until next season.
