I Once Thought 65 Was Really Old.

At 5, I remember thinking 65 was really old.  Now, at 64, my jet black hair a memory, and my 65th birthday just around the corner – not so much.

I am sometimes utterly amazed that I’ve been on this planet so long, as I’ve always been one of those people others say ‘burns the candle at both ends.’

Lately, I’ve been pondering the next 3rd of my life.  Yes, I think I’ll make it perle s 2to ninety-something, but not as some doughy old lady.

I can’t prevent getting old, but I can certainly prevent being a fat, infirm, old person.  A very real danger if I don’t begin doing something about it now.

Somewhere around 58, I started slipping, and I can’t really put my finger on any one reason.  I’ve been 128 pounds/size 7 with an occasional foray into 5’s (stress) as long as I can remember.

I think it was a combination – a not-so-perfect storm:  A sedentary job at Saks I knew would end in lay-offs, as the company was slowly divesting itself of all its properties; menopause that although symptomless in my case, slowed my metabolism; eight months on unemployment followed 6 months later by another year on unemployment; and finally, meniscus knee surgery that kept me from walking my morning 5 miles.

I’ve been looking at the scale for a while now and I don’t like what it says.  I look in the mirror and it confirms the numbers – 50 pounds in 6 years.

I’ve never dieted.  Not sure I know how.  In truth, I don’t think it’s about food.  I kept a diary and I eat about 1200 calories a day.  I think it’s the happy hours with friends – all those gratuitous calories in beer, wine, etc.

What Now?

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