Bikini Competitions In Your 40’s

Bikini Competitions In Your 40’s

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Bikini Competitions and Other Stupid Stuff I Did

 

I’m in an industry that rewards beauty, youth and rock-hard abs. The fit, the gorgeous, and the barely dressed get the likes and clicks, and I know this firsthand – cause I was one of those when I turned 45 (minus the youth).

You see at 45 years of age, I decided to enter a fitness bikini competition and I got myself the abs, the long hair, and the fake tan and I plastered those bloody images all over social media with cute little hashtags like #absaremadeinthekitchen, and #bikinicompetitor.

Whenever I posted those photos (see below) my likes were at least 25% higher than any other previous post. Because like I said above the internet recognizes the barely dressed. 

I’m not very proud of this time in my life. I thought I would be, but the truth of the matter is after the competition was over (and after I finished filling my face with wonderful glorious carbs) I was embarrassed.

 

I was embarrassed that I spent so many months working towards the one goal of trying to look good in a stupidly small, ridiculously over-priced, glittery bikini.

The only thing that makes me smile with pride is when I think about the stripper heels I had to wear and how I conquered those without a sprained ankle insight.

“Yay PJ, bravo girlfriend.”

PJ-Middle-Age-Moments-Blog-Fitness-with-PJ-Bikini-Competition

However, this was not the legacy I wanted to leave.

So, at 45 years of age, I started to grow up.

LH was pretty happy with this too. I guess I was a tad “challenging” to live with while on a restrictive diet with a two-a-day workout routine.

I don’t think this growth would have happened, though, if I didn’t do the competition. So one good thing did come out of not eating carbs for three months.

I also believe this change in mindset happens as we get closer to milestone birthdays, like in my case 50.

Now, flash forward five years later.

Below is a post I recently put on my Instagram feed of what my stomach really looks like versus how you can make a stomach look good with the right angle and pose (making a point 
that not everything we see on social media is always what it appears).

And this post is currently my top post on Instagram… ever.

It has the most engagement and the most likes including a whopping 450% increase from the post above in my stupid bikini.

So, I believe I hit a nerve, and that the women who follow me on Instagram feel the same way I do. 

PJ-Middle-Age-Moments-Blog-Fitness-with-PJ-Bikini-Competition

I guess getting older isn’t that bad. While I hate not being able to read the small print and the fact that I move slower than I used to, I do love the personal growth that age has helped me find.

I am happy I am leaving the baggage of my younger years behind me and that I am now a-okay with posting a photo of my meno-pot belly on Instagram… and that you were a-okay with it as well.

Thanks for being you.

PJ ox

WHEN YOU’RE THE OLDEST PERSON IN THE ROOM… read here.

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Bikini Competitions In Your 40’s

Over 40 and Sexy?

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Men Love Me Because of My… Shoe Size

No woman does NOT want to be found attractive by someone. Whether that’s by a man or a woman, I think I can safely say that most of us want to make someone’s heart flutter a bit when they see us.

This flutter can be because of our brains, or our beauty (or both), but we do want to have this effect on someone.

Some of us work on the exterior for this effect – makeup, hair, clothes. And some women couldn’t give a rat’s ass about those things. 

I have a friend who just rolls out of bed in the morning, brushes her teeth and away she goes. She doesn’t comb her hair, put on makeup, or hell even look in the mirror. She couldn’t care less and I, who took an eyelash curler with me when I backpacked for a week through the backcountry, am both horrified and envious of this attitude.

I also think that the exterior stuff starts to lose its power over us as we get older. We aren’t so hung up on good looks or trying to look a certain way anymore. While I’m not quite at the level my friend is at I am waaaaaaaay less maintenance now at 50 than I have ever been.

And what makes my heart flutter now compared to when I first met LH is a whole new ballgame too.

Middle-Age-Moments-Blog-Fitness-with-PJ-Larry

Thirty years ago when we started dating I loved his rear end, his ability to make me laugh, and the fact he had his own car. (Side note: previous to LH I only dated men who fit this set criteria: tall, dark, handsome, no steady job, and 9 times out of 10 was an asshole.).  


Twenty-year-old PJ fell in love with LH due to physical attraction (and more), while 50-year-old PJ loves LH because of many reasons with the top five being: he can fix shit, he vacuums, he still makes me laugh, he still owns his own car (haha), and we can sit in comfortable silence – anytime, any day.


I don’t care anymore about how his butt looks, I care more about what his latest blood pressure reading is.


What he’s wearing doesn’t concern me either, and I’ve even stopped being horrified every time he goes to the store with his old man slippers on (you know the kind – plaid top, hard sole).


LH claims he loves me as a whole package, while I think it’s because I’m the only one who remembers the wifi password and knows how to troubleshoot his email when there’s a glitch.


But what he does not care about are my shoes or my shoe size… while other men, strangely, do.


There are scores of female fitness YouTubers who captivate men because of their bodies, their hair, their face… I seem to captivate men because of my shoe size.


A few years ago I had one sad soul who messaged me on Facebook for almost a full year asking me about the runners I was wearing in whatever latest workout I released. He wanted to know all about them and what size I wore.


Bravo to him for hanging in there for almost a year because I never messaged back or even acknowledged that I received his DM’s (rule #1 – never engage). 


And just recently a new one popped on the YouTube feed who wanted to know what size shoes I wore. I had to shake my head. 


I don’t get bent out of shape with these comments, you can’t when you’re online. I find them funny – and in this instance, I found it EXTREMELY funny that my sex appeal starts (and ends) in a pair of 9.5’s.


I just chuckle and I move on.

 

PJ ox

WHY I WANT A HOT FLASH… read here.

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Bikini Competitions In Your 40’s

Oldest Person

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Oldest One in the Room

“What’s it like? To be the oldest person here?”, she asked. 

Let me punch you in the throat, I think to myself when I look at her because it probably feels the same. 

This question was posed to me last summer when I attended (as a participant) a fitness class – where, as you guessed it, I was the oldest one there. 

It was the first time, in my 50 years on this planet, where I was the oldest person in the room. And I know this for a fact because I asked the one guy who I thought was at least my age or a few years older, and it turned out that he’s actually five years younger than me. I wish I could say I was also the wisest one there… but I will never be that, in any room, at any time, no matter what my age is.

But in this room, on this particular day, I was the oldest and I was surrounded by people who wouldn’t be able to sing the chorus of “2 Legit to 2 Quit” with me (and do the awesome hand moves to accompany said rhyme). They also probably never heard of Jack Palance let alone have seen his one-arm push-up feat on the Oscars – at age 73. And, this group would never get my jokes about dialling up for the internet either (When I was your age the internet went “Skaweeerurweeert”😆.). 

I was also in a room where I wasn’t the fastest.

And this was an eye-opener for me. 

You see, in the past, I’ve been accused of being competitive. I don’t think I am, I just prefer the view from the front of the pack that’s all, but here I was at mid-pack and sometimes at the back of the pack with my inside voice cheering my 50-year old ass on (which oddly enough sounds like Morgan Freeman). 

Now, where younger-PJ would have just about killed herself to be the fastest, 50-year old PJ, well… she didn’t care.

PJ-Middle-Age-Moments-Blog-Fitness-with-PJ

This amazed me. This sense of “who gives a f*ck” as people were passing me. This was so unlike me.

Could this mean that I was evolving? Was I getting, dare I type it, more carefree with age?

LH says “thank God” that we are less inclined to keep up with those who are younger than us. He says life goes too fast and we need to slow down. 

When I point out that that is so “cliche”, he says there’s a reason it’s a cliche, it’s because LIFE DOES GO TOO FAST (his voice always goes up an octave when he has a point to be made). And now as we get older, he continues to tell me, we can finally get off the treadmill – he always uses fitness equipment metaphors with me because he knows that’s how you can hold my attention.

I think I agree with him… to a degree.

While I am totally a-okay with slowing down, I am not going to get off the treadmill entirely. Sure, I’ll bring the speed down a notch – but I’ll also add some incline to make up for the lost speed – because that’s how I roll. 

And if you’re wondering how I responded to the sweet twenty-something-year-old asking me how I felt about being the oldest in the room. Well, I kept it violence-free and smiled and told her that I could still kick her ass.

PJ ox

WHY I WANT A HOT FLASH… read here.

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Bikini Competitions In Your 40’s

I Want a Hot Flash

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I Want a Hot Flash – and other stupid things I’ve said

I’ve never thought too much about getting older until I was. For instance, I wish at age 30 I said to myself “Okay PJ this could be as good as it gets for your metabolism, so live it up, girlfriend”.  Instead, there I was like an idiot counting calories.

I also wish I could go back to age 40 so I could really appreciate the ability to read the small print. Screw trying to fit into smaller clothes, I just want to be able to read the smaller print. Do you feel me with this?

“Youth is wasted on the young,” they say, and I concur.

PJ-Trying-to-read-small-print


I’m not that old..

I’m 50 (at the time of writing this) which means that I’m at that magical age where I remember what I used to be able to do because I can kinda still do most of it – I just need longer breaks and aids now.

I also catch myself playing the “Pros vs Cons” scenario in my head for a lot of stuff that I would just go and do in my 20’s and 30’s.

Case in point the other night when I was lying on the couch watching a movie and I really wanted popcorn,  but I also really didn’t feel like getting up.

Young PJ would have just got up and made popcorn. 50-year old PJ had to determine if the reward was worth all the effort.

So I weighed the pros (popcorn), versus the cons (moving my dog, getting up, walking into the kitchen, making the popcorn, lying down again, only to get back up again because I forgot to get a beverage – and you need a beverage when you are eating popcorn – calling my dog, coaxing him back on the couch with me, only to kick him off again because now I have to pee).

In that whole scenario, the winner is obvious – stay on the couch and get LH to make the popcorn embarassed

 

I Would Love a Hot Flash…

Back in my 20’s, 30’s and early 40’s I was a full-time personal trainer. This was my career, not a side gig. There were no online programs, or YouTube channels, or studios. It was me and a large clientele base that was mainly women in their 40’s and 50’s.

And most of these women had one thing in common… they were menopausal.

We’d be squatting away and my clients would talk about everything (when they had the breath to – that is). Hot flashes, sleepless nights, vaginal dryness, mood swings – nothing was left out and I started to learn all about menopause at the young innocent age of 25.

But, it never phased me because I believed (as all stupid 25-year-old’s do), that this would not happen to me.

In fact, I even tempted fate on a regular basis and would tell these women that I couldn’t wait for a hot flash to happen.

You see I was tired of being so bloody cold all of the time.

I also had had enough of LH jokingly (but not really) rubbing his hands together quickly to get them warm every time he went to hold mine. Or, him looking at me very seriously and telling me that if he ever had a heart attack I was to just put my cold hands on his chest and that should shock him back to life.

Hardy, har har LH.

 

Throat Punches…

So a hot flash sounded amazing to me.

The women I trained were very kind to me whenever I made these declarations. Whereas the PJ-now would probably throat punch the PJ-then, these amazing women just raised their eyebrows politely at me.

Do I enjoy hot flashes now you wonder?

Well, if you are wondering this then you are either A) not menopausal, or B) a dude who is on the wrong blog (and bravo if you are a dude and you have reached this far. I would have thought I’d lost you at vaginal dryness.).

Hot flashes are not similar to that lovely warm heat that the stones on a fireplace give off on a cold evening. Or, that perfect temperature you get your nightly bath set at.

No, they are an inner inferno of demon hell that happens at weird and wonderful times.

Like, for instance, standing in the line at the bank with your winter coat zipped up and your mandatory mask pushing that hot breath of yours back into your already-on-fire body. A mask that you can’t whip off because it’s, well against the law right now.

Hot flashes seem to find the most inconvenient time possible, similar to that of a telephone call spammer minus the inability to hang up on a hot flash.

But… no one has died from a hot flash, that’s recorded anyways (there may have been some homicidal thoughts during though), and women have been hot flashing since the dawn of time.

So I find comfort in knowing that I am not alone, and if my sisterhood before me endured this BS then I can too.

 

PJ ox

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