Yesterday was my birthday and I turned one of those numbers that makes your heart stop and gives great pause to the universe.
I don’t know what I expected but it was just like any other day except I opened some birthday cards and went to dinner with friends except this time they paid.
A birthday is a birthday is a birthday and a number is a state of mind. I turned 60. I can’t seem to believe it myself. Turning 40 was no big deal nor was 50 but 60 is mind numbing.
It was less eventful than losing my virginity (although thinking way back, the earth did not stand still then either). I have friends of all ages. Recently I was hanging out with some women in their 30s and accidentally blurted out that I was turning 60 and they all looked shocked. Everyone said, “You’re older than my mother!” But I do not have their mother’s state of mind.
So turning 60 probably has its advantages — I just haven’t figured out what they are yet. Various movie theaters around here have 62 and 65 for senior discounts so I’m still not that old. When I look at my friends who are in their 60s, I think it must be the new 49.
I had wanted to lose 20 pounds by my birthday but have been static on the 12 pound plateau. Sometime I think maintaining is more difficult than losing. I also have not been going to the gym regularly (broken record) because I injured my right arm and have lost some of its range of motion. It’s on the mend but still hurts (stabs of pain) and has some ways to improve. I can still go to the gym and do aerobic and lower body exercises so that’s not really an excuse.
I wonder at what age I will stop making excuses?