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.’
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.