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

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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