Whoever coined the term “thirty, flirty and thriving” is also probably the person behind the “terrible twos”. Its all a lie. Three-year-olds are the ACTUAL worst and turning thirty means the overnight decline of your body.
Have you ever tried to open a can with a rusty, good-for-nothing can opener and been so frustrated that you were real close to just not eating at all?
That is basically how I feel about my whole life. My body is the can opener. I cannot function.
I started Insanity Max 30 with a coworker on Monday and despite good ol’ Shaun T telling me what a bad ass I am, everything hurts. I have a muscle in my palm that I can FEEL for the first time in my nearly 32 years and I can feel it because it HURTS.
The thing that I really hate to admit is that working out makes me feel really good. Like, despite my inability to take off my sports bra, I have more energy and mental clarity. I feel motivated to do other things–like laundry. I hate laundry.
It’s just that no one tells you what thirty is really going to do to you. It’s like the gift that keeps on giving–slower metabolism, crows feet, the inability to recover from four glasses of wine in less than two days–and it doesn’t disappoint when it comes to physical activity. If you are doing any sort of jumping exercise, postpartum and over thirty, without peeing a little, we need to talk. Sell me your shakes.
It helps if you can find a buddy. Limping down the hallway at work and mutually groaning over the cement that has replaced your thighs and the grilled chicken that is totally not a cheeseburger helps soften the blow. I was worried about looking stupid or out of shape at first but luckily, I managed to handle that long before the workouts began. Nothing like chasing a rogue middle schooler down the hallway to highlight your need for some rehabilitation.
Of course, this time I have promised myself that I will not get back to this place again. I do this once a year or so. I work out, get in great shape, feel really fantastic and like I don’t have to lean slightly forward in photographs to create the illusion of thinness. Then, something awful happens (sickness, stress, Ben & Jerry’s, general life woes) and I decide I should probably immediately stop all self-care.
But not this time, Satan. I am coming for you, fitness! Shaun T. says I DO have abs. I just can’t see them yet. Oh, but can I feel them. *insert dramatic sob*