27 is the new 85

So that we’re clear, I spent the first 8 months of this year swinging monstrous lumps of iron (see left) over my head with my cute trainer dude. I am a strong person. Even with lighter workouts since school started, I still qualify for an old nickname: “Muscles Malvini.” (Note, only one person ever called me that, but I seriously liked it.) And so I find it quite perplexing that last week, a small turn of the head and this week, a bag of banana bread has thrown out my entire upper back. What is going on??

I do realize that 27 is not, in fact, old, despite its relative closeness to the big 3-0. I used to manage a cadre of senior slave labor (aka hospital volunteers), I know what old is. In working with those master folders and stuffers, I know that 97 is old. Not 30, not 40, not 50, certainly not 60 or even 70. (80 is pushing old, I admit.) So then, why do I feel this way???

It’s not enough that my friends are making babies that TALK now and all of the newborns at the Pogacar’s Christmas party are practically driving… I can stomach those things if I didn’t feel like a geriatric just loading packages in my car.

I have no lofty point to this blog other than to say: Waaaaaaa!!!!!

In lieu of anything substantive, I will close with MERRY CHRISTMAS! Here’s to Santa bringing me a new upper back for Christmas. 😉


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