The Weakened

What a weekend.

Got rid of the kids on Friday. Winter camp for them. Lazy weekend of Cheetos feasting, old movie watching, and Facebook surfing was planned for me while I waited for my antibiotics to kick in. And then maybe a nice dinner out or a movie with Mr. Handsome, depending on how I felt.

Instead, Mr. Handsome worked. And worked. And worked some more.

And I. Did. Nothing. Well, I did watch about six straight hours of The Real World, Brooklyn, which just made me that much more depressed because I was reminded over and over and over again how old I really was, and that I would never again be as young and perky as those gorgeous 20-year-olds on the television screen. Not that I ever was in the first place. But I did have a nice ass and legs.

Now, the spider veins double in number every time I look down at my cellulite-infused legs, and my butt cheeks, when not encased in tightish pants, flap loudly against my ankles. And while we're on the topic, what's with my legs? They are by no means fat, but they are definitely lumpy. Is this yet another product of aging? I can't see what else it could be.

This whole event surprises me, actually, since a full two-thirds of my body is bionic, and the rest is dead. No joke. As a for instance, my entire spine is one solid mass of metal and hip bone, thanks to scoliosis and ensuing back surgery when I was only 13 years old. I also have some contraption in my left eye that holds my retina together.

If anyone's heard of Lumpy Leg Syndrome, please fill me in, because I am in the dark. I've been googling like mad, and all I come up with is cellulite. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but does cellulite not coincide with something called FAT? Because, like I said, my legs are not. So, could I be packing on a rare form of cellulite, until now unbeknownst to me and the rest of the world? Am I actually on the verge of some amazing new health discovery, which will put me on the international map of fame and make me rich, allowing me to lie on a beach in Barbados and drink mimosas for the rest of my godforsaken days?

Not bloody likely.

So, instead, I've decided to return to the gym and put myself back together again. And this time, I mean it. It's not just about looking good anymore. Now, it's about feeling well, and keeping myself healthy. Because I think I've finally faced the fact that I'm the only one responsible for my health and well-being, and as I get older, I will get weaker if I don't do something about it.

This whole age thing actually scares me. A lot. I think I might actually have a disorder, kind of like those people on that show Obsessed, who can't stand the sound "sh", or rearrange people's hands all the time so that they are always in the shape of a fortune cookie.

After watching both my parents slowly lose all independence, and sink into the deep depths of human indignities, I will do anything and everything in my power to avoid that at all costs. The problem is, and I fully realize this, that we do continue to get older. It's not something we can control. Really? Yes, really.

And although I'm not a control freak, I am when it comes to having to depend on someone else to wipe my butt and spoon cold Cream of Wheat into my gob.

So, I no longer have an excuse not to go back to the gym and get healthy, especially since my beautiful Em finally uploaded some amazingly hip workout songs on my iPod shuffle (which she says sucks, but whatever, I'm still cool).

I'm just going to wait another week or so, until all those eager New Year's resolution-makers finally realize that was a stupid decision to return to the gym, because if there's one thing I can't stand, it's waiting for a damn elliptical or treadmill. And that's not an excuse, just so you know.