Revelations (the kind that don't involve Rapture)

I had a birthday last Tuesday, and though my mind is always in disagreement with my driver's license the fact remains. I was born in 1970. I am 49, practically a fossil by the standards of youth but still eating EZ cheese from the can and leaving my wet towels on the bathroom floor. At least I don't get zits any more.

The 49 doesn't bother me as much as what comes next. Five Oh Fuck No. Black balloons and birthday cards offering best wishes I don't die before cake is served and my so called friends and family gleefully offering to help me pick out a burial plot and advising me on the best multi-vitamin for the AARP crowd. <sarcasm>I can hardly wait. </sarcasm>

I had two epiphanies on my 49th birthday (my 20th Annual 29th Birthday if we're being honest). The first one is that I shouldn't feel ashamed to be 49. It IS just a number after all, and anyone who knows me will be the first to insist I have the maturity level of a 13 year old boy. The second one was that I don't want to hit Five Oh Fuck No in the same shape I am in at this moment. I'm ok with being fat, but I'm getting weak and that needs to stop. Weak muscles lead to injuries and lately I've been rocking a seriously pissed off right knee and a borderline postal left Achilles tendon that feels one step away from snapping. Even worse, my once insane biceps are now more sailboat than gunships, an embarrassment for me given my penchant for wearing tank tops.

This afternoon I'm heading up to an old skool iron gym, the kind where everyone swears and throws their weights and wears the kind of "intimidating" clothing that other gyms kick you out for wearing. (my last gym threw a guy out for drinking from a gallon jug of water because a woman complained it made her feel shamed for drinking from a 16 oz bottle. WTeverlovingF?) It's been decades since I was around hardcore weight lifters and I admit to considerable unease at stepping back into an iron gym at my current unfitness level and weight, but that's where I need to be. The Princess hateses group fitness classes and pretending she's motivated when she really just wants natchos and a nap. Given the gym is an hour drive I have to have someone there waiting JUST FOR ME to prevent me from saying, eh I'll go tomorrow. Plus I always loved lifting free weights and the results that brings, so hopefully after talking with them a bit I can find a trainer I click well with and get busy making sure Five Oh Fuck No does not see me in the same shape 49 did.