I dropped off a package at a client's office a few days ago and decided to walk most of the way there and back. This was probably about three miles in all. A leisurely stroll down Michigan Avenue and Upper Wacker Drive in high humidity. I wore some Diesel kicks. Not a strenuous walk, right?
Right, except that by the time I got to Washington and Wacker from Erie and Michigan, my left knee was feeling a little sketchy. Not that it was making noises but it felt sore. Tired. Unhappy with my walking. It was none too pleased that I was trying to live a sustainable lifestyle by not taking any form of transportation requiring fossil fuels.
The following day, I crashed into a doorframe while chasing the kids around. Now the right knee has a bruise.
I've also been extraordinarily tired for someone who doesn't do damn much during the day in terms of physical labor. I've taken to passing out on Z's floor when I'm putting her to bed; she likes me to stay for a while after kissing her goodnight. So I lay on her rug with a giant floor pillow under my head and one of her tiny blankets covering me, and I fall asleep before she does.
I'm used to being Indestructible, Resilient Amy. This slow falling apart is not cool. I was the one who could drink copiously without fear of hangovers. I could out-eat most men. I went to the gym regularly. Now red wine gives me a major headache, I get heartburn, and my body after two kids has gone to mush. Even thinking about joining a gym exhausts me.
And the checkout girl at Whole Foods didn't even card me when I bought the giant bottle of Belgian Trappist Monk ale yesterday.
Getting old sucks.