I write this current blog with recently washed hands, although I can’t say the same for my hair. Wowza – I look pretty scary. One look at me and the Corona virus will scream and run away.
Here we are, an old year behind us, one that seemed to whiz past like a high-speed train. And my, what a year…..I could rant about all the political unrest, a really strange election, awful wars across the world, hate radiating between people in this country, and a wobbly feeling in the pits of our bellies at what the future might bring…. but I won’t.
I hate getting older. And it’s not just because of the wrinkles on my face either. I’ve actually become quite fond of the two creases either side of my mouth that run down towards my chin. The ‘laughter’ lines around my eyes and the rumpled skin on my forehead are okay as well. At least they give my face strong character and hint at the hard, grueling, not-to-mention ‘full’ life I have led thus far.
One of the lovely gifts that going through menopause has brought to my life is the new ability to sweat. Not glisten, not perspire, just plain old good honest sweat. The kind that makes you feel as though you could cook a fried egg on your more than adequate belly and heat up a pizza under your left boob. I can remember playing an entire racquetball game years ago and feeling a bit ‘damp’ around the collar, I used to actually COMPLAIN that I wished I could sweat….
This week I have been true to my promise and gone to all of my gym classes. During the past week, I also hurt my knee, because it finally decided it was tired of carrying the extra thirty-five pounds I have bestowed upon my frame. One day last week my knee made a yucky crunchy noise, which elicited a loud gasp of pain and an unprintable word, consequently I’ve resorted to wearing a knee-brace.