Last week I was hanging out with some friends and their friends. When people started talking about frisbee, one of my friends turned to me and said, "Hey didn't you use to play frisbee?" And I said, "Yeah, just once. Long ago."
"O what happened?"
"Eh I didn't like it."
One of the girls, someone I didn't know, looked shocked. "What? How come?" she cried, looking utterly bewildered at the prospect of anyone not liking frisbee.
"Uh it's tiring." I said. Which was true. The damn sport was just too tiring for me.
"Tiring?!" she continued, with the same 'that's-preposterous!' voice, "What sport isn't tiring?"
What the hell? Eh sa ayoko eh baket ba. "Well I guess I'm not sporty then," I replied. Thankfully she didn't bring up the topic again after that. Actually she didn't talk to me again for the rest of the night.
I really disliked frisbee. I gave it a go and I didn't enjoy and that's that. All that running around back and forth trying to catch a disc just didn't appeal to me.
Yeah I really don't consider myself the sporty type. Lately though, I've been giving it some serious thought. Partly because it's summer and I need to get my body ready if I'm going to the beach. Mostly because just recently I noticed I had some difficulty zipping up my jeans. And I've been cutting down on rice at that! There's only one reason: I must be getting old. My metabolism is slowing down. It's just but one proof that the inevitable, unstoppable march to antiquity has begun.
Research shows that women are at their peak between the ages of 25-27. Gawd, if that's true then it means I have two more years and it's all downhill from there? *Shudders* I have to do something fast to delay this aging process as much as humanly possible.
Aging, or at least my own aging, is a concept that just wasn't part of my consciousness until recently. I never imagined myself growing old. Of course I always imagined myself and how I'll be when I'm older and doing the things I've always dreamt of doing, but somehow the me that I imagined was well.... not old. Just different. It was still me, but probably with longer hair or maybe a little heavier. Definitely not old. I must confess now that the thought of having wrinkles on my face, crow's feet on my eyes, bigger, fatter calves, droopier arms, and having things that shouldn't sag, well, bow to the force of gravity, just scares me. Really. It scares the shit out of me.
"Don't worry about growing old. Worry about growing old gracefully," my mom intoned, while I was whining to her that I'll probably develop eye bags because she had them. Eye bags, apparently, are hereditary. Good luck to me! Both my parents have them. I know we all grow old eventually, but when it does start happening, it's still cause for anxiety.
I remember back in grade school, there was a "game" between us friends to see who'd have their period first. Individually we agonized at the thought that "it" might never come and we might be "the one girl that's different." Having your period was the symbol of womanhood. It was like our passport to some secret society where only the mature, sophisticated ladies were allowed to enter. I was one of those girls in the middle. I wasn't first, but I wasn't the last to get her period either. After we'd each gotten our periods, we'd give the remaining girls a tap on the back and a reassuring smile. Secretly though, we'd breathe a collective sigh of relief that "it" finally came for us and we weren't freaks after all. The one girl who got her period last, by the way, turned out to be some model. Last I heard, she's based in New York.
I always smile or roll my eyes whenever I remember how we all pined and pined for our periods to come. Now, most of us hate our monthly visitors. "I swear to God I cannot wait for menopause!" one of my friends lamented. It's really funny how things change. Even funnier when I think when I think of how I felt during that time. All these changes were happening to my body and I approached them with curiosity and excitement. It was a confusing, heady time but it was something I looked forward to. Now I approach these changes with dread and anxiety. So on second thought.... hell no I don't want menopause yet. That means I'll be about sixty, which means I'll have gray hair and wrinkles and saggy stuff. Which means bye bye youth. No thanks.
My mom is horrified when I talk about stuff like liposuction. She thinks I'll be like Meryl Streep or Goldie Hawn in Death Becomes Her. Hell, I can only wish to God I'm as beautiful as Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn when I'm old. My mom also thinks I'll be one those ladies in Orange County who get nose job after nose job, who get boyfriends twice as young as them and who can never face the fact that they're not 25 anymore. "I swear to God ma, I will not be a cow when I'm old!" I say, only half-joking. "Make up can only do so much you know. "I can already see myself getting botox. Heaven help me
I am also quite sluggish. My sleeping patterns are abnormal. I sleep really late, wake up early and feel sleepy throughout the day. I was never really the type to do all-nighters. Even when I was younger I couldn't pull off anything like that. I would refuse to. I need to sleep or I become either a cranky person, or a useless zombie or both. Lately though, I've been craving for good, honest-to-goodness sleep more than usual and I attribute that to my aging.
Anyway, the point of this whole rambling, is that I really need to get some exercise. Not just exercise, but like a real sport that will keep me active, fit and most of all, young. Now that, I think I'll really really like.
"O what happened?"
"Eh I didn't like it."
One of the girls, someone I didn't know, looked shocked. "What? How come?" she cried, looking utterly bewildered at the prospect of anyone not liking frisbee.
"Uh it's tiring." I said. Which was true. The damn sport was just too tiring for me.
"Tiring?!" she continued, with the same 'that's-preposterous!' voice, "What sport isn't tiring?"
What the hell? Eh sa ayoko eh baket ba. "Well I guess I'm not sporty then," I replied. Thankfully she didn't bring up the topic again after that. Actually she didn't talk to me again for the rest of the night.
I really disliked frisbee. I gave it a go and I didn't enjoy and that's that. All that running around back and forth trying to catch a disc just didn't appeal to me.
Yeah I really don't consider myself the sporty type. Lately though, I've been giving it some serious thought. Partly because it's summer and I need to get my body ready if I'm going to the beach. Mostly because just recently I noticed I had some difficulty zipping up my jeans. And I've been cutting down on rice at that! There's only one reason: I must be getting old. My metabolism is slowing down. It's just but one proof that the inevitable, unstoppable march to antiquity has begun.
Research shows that women are at their peak between the ages of 25-27. Gawd, if that's true then it means I have two more years and it's all downhill from there? *Shudders* I have to do something fast to delay this aging process as much as humanly possible.
Aging, or at least my own aging, is a concept that just wasn't part of my consciousness until recently. I never imagined myself growing old. Of course I always imagined myself and how I'll be when I'm older and doing the things I've always dreamt of doing, but somehow the me that I imagined was well.... not old. Just different. It was still me, but probably with longer hair or maybe a little heavier. Definitely not old. I must confess now that the thought of having wrinkles on my face, crow's feet on my eyes, bigger, fatter calves, droopier arms, and having things that shouldn't sag, well, bow to the force of gravity, just scares me. Really. It scares the shit out of me.
"Don't worry about growing old. Worry about growing old gracefully," my mom intoned, while I was whining to her that I'll probably develop eye bags because she had them. Eye bags, apparently, are hereditary. Good luck to me! Both my parents have them. I know we all grow old eventually, but when it does start happening, it's still cause for anxiety.
I remember back in grade school, there was a "game" between us friends to see who'd have their period first. Individually we agonized at the thought that "it" might never come and we might be "the one girl that's different." Having your period was the symbol of womanhood. It was like our passport to some secret society where only the mature, sophisticated ladies were allowed to enter. I was one of those girls in the middle. I wasn't first, but I wasn't the last to get her period either. After we'd each gotten our periods, we'd give the remaining girls a tap on the back and a reassuring smile. Secretly though, we'd breathe a collective sigh of relief that "it" finally came for us and we weren't freaks after all. The one girl who got her period last, by the way, turned out to be some model. Last I heard, she's based in New York.
I always smile or roll my eyes whenever I remember how we all pined and pined for our periods to come. Now, most of us hate our monthly visitors. "I swear to God I cannot wait for menopause!" one of my friends lamented. It's really funny how things change. Even funnier when I think when I think of how I felt during that time. All these changes were happening to my body and I approached them with curiosity and excitement. It was a confusing, heady time but it was something I looked forward to. Now I approach these changes with dread and anxiety. So on second thought.... hell no I don't want menopause yet. That means I'll be about sixty, which means I'll have gray hair and wrinkles and saggy stuff. Which means bye bye youth. No thanks.
My mom is horrified when I talk about stuff like liposuction. She thinks I'll be like Meryl Streep or Goldie Hawn in Death Becomes Her. Hell, I can only wish to God I'm as beautiful as Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn when I'm old. My mom also thinks I'll be one those ladies in Orange County who get nose job after nose job, who get boyfriends twice as young as them and who can never face the fact that they're not 25 anymore. "I swear to God ma, I will not be a cow when I'm old!" I say, only half-joking. "Make up can only do so much you know. "I can already see myself getting botox. Heaven help me
I am also quite sluggish. My sleeping patterns are abnormal. I sleep really late, wake up early and feel sleepy throughout the day. I was never really the type to do all-nighters. Even when I was younger I couldn't pull off anything like that. I would refuse to. I need to sleep or I become either a cranky person, or a useless zombie or both. Lately though, I've been craving for good, honest-to-goodness sleep more than usual and I attribute that to my aging.
Anyway, the point of this whole rambling, is that I really need to get some exercise. Not just exercise, but like a real sport that will keep me active, fit and most of all, young. Now that, I think I'll really really like.
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