I just recently had a birthday, and I am now officially 39 years old. I received many warm birthday greetings and messages on my Facebook page, but one in particular stood out to me:
“39 is the new 29!”
I appreciate the sentiment, and I get what they mean by it. For most people, they remember their younger years as a time of greater energy and vitality (and typically a smaller waist).
In this respect, I’m not like most people. You couldn’t pay me to be 29 again. No way.
I’ve been enjoying old episodes of The Golden Girls on Hulu, so please indulge me as I channel my inner Sophia:
Picture it: Columbus, Ohio, 2007. Continue reading “39 Feels Fine”
Sometimes on leg day, I feel like I’m going to die. But so far, I have lived to tell the tale each time.
The key word is “feel.” My feelings are not facts. Just because I feel like I am going to die doesn’t mean that I am in fact dying.
I once heard someone I greatly admire say, “My feelings are real, but they are not reality.” I totally missed that memo. I have lived a good chunk of my life ruled by my feelings. If I felt something, that meant it was true, and I had to react to it.
I’m also someone who has dealt with anxiety and panic. When it comes to the “fight or flight” instinct, I’m pretty much all about flight. When something is uncomfortable, or scary, or overwhelming, my first instinct is to run from it as fast as I can. It feels like I can’t handle it. It feels like I won’t make it through. It feels like I am going to die.
So what does any of this have to do with leg day?
Everything. Continue reading “Anxious Legs”