Thoughts on Turning 50... Besides: Holy Crap, How the Hell Did That Happen?

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So this is the post that's supposed to go something like: "Oh gosh, I'm hitting a major milestone birthday today and... I'm just thrilled to pieces! I'm not growing older, I'm growing BETTER! And now readers, hold onto your hats: I'll reveal some surprising secrets to enjoying a deliriously happy middle age!"

That's what most health and fitness writers would do, right? Everyone else in this game seems to age gracefully and cheerfully. It's supposed to come with the territory: not only should a health blogger be physically healthy, but she should have frequent life-changing epiphanies and accumulate valuable wisdom. Looking deep within to find profound spiritual meaning in everyday moments, she accepts with gratefulness the inevitable life transitions, opening her heart fully to greet the wonder of each new day.

Yeah, well, screw that.

Like it or not, I'm turning 50, and I find my skeptical, introverted, semi-neurotic personality still pretty much intact. Which I'm fine with--but it means I'm probably not the best person to give others advice on handling this transition. So instead I'll just share some personal observations about what sucks for me and what doesn't suck so much about turning 50.


Things I Hate About Turning 50 And/Or Becoming Middle Aged

1. It came way too fast

Such a cliche, right? But I swear I just turned 30 about 2 years ago. Which means in another 4 years: poof! I'll be 90.

So hey, smarty-pants scientists, could you folks get on this? Surely there must be some practical application for your string theories and strange attractors and black holes and quarks and whatnot. Let's spend a little less time developing apocalyptic video games and surprising new flavors of vitamin water, and a little more time figuring out how to slow time the fuck down, okay?

2. Wait, whose face is that in the mirror?

Has this ever happened to you? You're out having a fun evening with friends, laughing and feeling all social and happy and carefree. Then you go to use the restroom, and as you finish washing your hands, you innocently look up in the mirror just to make sure you haven't got visible vegetable matter stuck in your teeth or a tomato sauce rorschach blot displayed on the front your blouse. But what's this? The lighting is coming from some weird, wrong direction, casting creepy shadows that reveal the reflection of a hundred year old woman with your hairstyle and clothing.

Hello? Who is that woman? Oh wait, that's YOU! Not the fresh-faced 30-year old version of you that lives only in your head and your old photo albums. No, it's the real you complete with crows feet, frown lines, jowls, and those oh-so-special "marionette" lines. Sigh.

I'm afraid my customary facial anti-aging techniques are no match against the steady march of time. They consist of: (1) wishing I hadn't spent my youth in the sun; (2) cursing my genetic predisposition to premature wrinkles; (3) wearing extra sunscreen now to retroactively undo the damage despite knowing it doesn't work that way; (4) thinking someday I should actually purchase and learn how to apply make-up like most female humans but never actually getting around to it because department store cosmetic saleswomen scare me; and (4) avoiding mirrors except for ones with extremely flattering light.

Many signs of aging you can fight with exercise, but despite some weird infomercials I've seen, I don't think wrinkles are one of 'em.

Scientists? Um, if it's gonna take too long to figure out how to slow time down, could you at least give us a pill that eliminates wrinkles? Even at 50 I'm way too immature to simply not give a crap that I look 10 years older than I am.

3. The whole ticking clock issue
Those of you who do the religion thing and believe there's a happy heavenly eternal afterlife where you get to be reunited with anyone you've ever loved? You probably don't have a huge problem with the whole limited-time-on-earth concept. The same for those of you who expect to be reincarnated. And those of you who don't think there's an afterlife but find the awareness of your impending mortality to be a life-affirming inspiration to enjoy every moment? Good for you!

Me? Knowing that 50 is more than halfway to Dead just creeps me the hell out.


4. Oh Yeah, and My Memory is Crap

As I may have mentioned before about a thousand times.


Things About Turning 50/ Middle Age I Have Mixed Feelings About:

1. Gray Hair

The strands of silver (or ok, white) that are appearing with increasing frequency serve to remind me that I'm not young anymore. That part I don't like at all.

But I've always had dark brown hair, and it would have looked fake and ridiculous had I tried to highlight it with anything other than slightly-less-dark brown hair. So for me, having little flecks and streaks of another color in my hair is kinda fun! Even if it's the color most often associated with using walkers and wearing Depends.

2. The "Change of Life"
I'm having my first hot flashes, and strangely enough, I'm kinda happy about that. I know, check back with me in a few months when I'm complaining mightily, but for right now, I'm kinda ready to get this whole "menopause" show on the road. I'm reaching the part of peri-menopause where some women (lucky us) are blessed with epic menstrual cycles of the "I can't stray more than 5 minutes away from a restroom or it will look like a Sam Peckinpah film in here" variety. I equate the start of hot flashes with, I hope, the beginning of the end of Periods from Hell.

3. Wear-and-Tear Injuries

Yeah, my knees, my feet, my back, yada yada yada. I hate when I can't do my most favorite sort of workout. It seems to happen a little more often now that I'm older, though I've had knee issues off and on since I was 17.

But here's the thing: I always find something I can do when injured, and after I've recovered, I'm really glad to have learned some new tricks. I'm too stubborn and lazy to change up my routines unless I absolutely have to. I figure occasional messed up knees and feet and back muscles are nature's way of saying "Take your head out of your ass and do something DIFFERENT, Crabby!"

Things That Actually Kinda Rock About Turning 50:

1. I feel great.

Seriously, I have more energy, more muscle strength, less anxiety, a stronger immune system, and less trouble maintaining a healthy weight than I ever had before. I sleep great, never get sick, have a ton of fun, a great marriage, awesome friends, and I'm pretty darn content with my life. (Now watch, I'll head into menopause and it will all go straight down the toilet--but for now at least, all is good). As a young adult looking ahead, it never would have occurred to me that being 50 could feel this good. So, dear young people: you know all that cheerleady crap you hear about how you should eat right and get exercise and plenty of sleep and not smoke or abuse drugs and how you should nurture your close relationships and be financially responsible, etc., etc. etc? It's annoying as hell to listen too--but weirdly enough, it's true. You'll thank yourself later.

2. "Wisdom" may be putting it too strongly, but...

There are lots of things you get smarter about as you get older. In fact, there's a book I've been meaning to read, "The Secret Life of the Grown-up Brain: The Surprising Talents of the Middle-Aged Mind," but, um, I keep forgetting to see if the library has it in yet.

Apparently memory isn't one of those surprising middle-aged talents.

But anyway, it does seem like what we lose in processing speed and recall, we gain in general smarts. At least, when I think back to some of the dumb-ass things I did as a young adult, I hope I'm getting smarter.

3. The Road Ahead Looks Less Crappy Than I Would Have Thought

So the major drawback to hitting my fifties seems to be the idea that I'm in my 50's--and the assumption that life will soon start to accelerate in a downhill direction. And yet, I hang out with folks in their 50's, 60's, and 70's who are still kicking ass and having a blast. (True, those I know in their 80's and 90's are slowing down a bit, but many are still hanging in there with pretty reasonable quality of life). And every day I seem to read about some promising new study or medical intervention or anti-aging strategy. So perhaps it's not inevitable that my body is going to disintegrate in to a rickety, malfunctioning, toxic pile of bitter complaints anytime in the near future. (And if I'm wrong, please stay tuned for my new blog, "Really, Really, REALLY Cranky Fitness.")

Anyone else facing a Big Birthday or life transition? Any helpful advice?

Happiness is a Home Gym

Who cares that we finally got around to putting a home gym in our basement? Well, nobody, probably, but that's why it's great to have a half-dead blog visited by a bunch of imaginary blog readers. I can post stuff occasionally when I get all excited and just pretend people are reading it. (And if the lovely folks at Blogher decide to syndicate the post), I even get to feel like a real blogger again for a few minutes.

So yeah, after years of petty, bitter complaints about our local gym (The temperature! The squeaky equipment! The "having to share!") we finally decided to create a more functional exercise space in our basement. We already had a super-cheap but quite serviceable treadmill (thank you, Sears warehouse) as well as some dumbbells and other odds and ends.

The problem? We figured a workout space that didn't evoke suicidal thoughts might be nice.

But this is what we started with:

Nice, huh?

Though for some perspective... here's a shot of that same space when the previous owners occupied it:

Walking lunges? A bit of a challenge.

And now? Well, we're still dealing with a poorly lit, unfinished basement-- complete with an exposed ceiling, ugly pipes, rusty beams, inexplicable holes, odd protrusions and miscellaneous dangly things. But at least it's now a freshly-painted and cleaned-up unfinished basement.

Voila!


Note the low-tech approach: what we couldn't slap paint on, we covered up with shower curtains. And the gym "flooring" came from Costco and cost approximately the same amount per square foot as toilet paper.

Now wait... what's that back there under the window? Is that... no... could it be?

Yes it is! It's a Precor 5.23 elliptical! Crabby has been pining for one of these babies FOREVER.


Yes, this was the real motivation for the "dump the gym, workout at home" initiative. We hunted for a refurbished Precor, shopped it to death, and finally found this EFX 5.23 for a tiny fraction of what it cost new. Which was still a crapload of money.

But hell, we figure in about 147 years, we should save enough in gym dues to totally make up for it!

Let's see it from another angle, shall we?


See how happy I look? I really have wanted one of these since the dawn of time.

Note: the Lobster was also photographed on the elliptical, and looked totally adorable, but she failed to appreciate this obvious fact and refused to let me post her photo. Spoilsport. But I do let her use the elliptical sometimes too, I promise.

What else is in our home gym? Well, lots of miscellaneous doohickeys we've accumulated over the years. You may notice the collapsible Crabitron in the background; it's still one of my favorite workout machines.


Another awesome feature that the handy Lobster added was a pull-up bar. Now, after years of failed attempts, I can finally do two whole pullups in a row. Or even more fun, three chin-ups! (Yes, some people work doggedly to save the earth, create financial empires, build massive skyscrapers, heal the sick, find inner peace... my goal was one unassisted pull-up before I turned fifty. I'm so proud.)


And yeah, I'm actually still using that TRX thingy you see hanging there, though not to make fitness porn movies, I swear.

Now here's where a real health blogger with a non-imaginary audience might offer some fresh tips on creating your own home gym. But, well, I'm too lazy. I can, however, offer some stale tips written 6 months ago on budget home gyms.

In any event, it is rare for me to be so HAPPY about working out. I'm sure when the novelty of our new home exercise space wears off, I will go back to my usual whining.

How are all my imaginary friends--having a good spring? Finding any new fitness options that don't suck? I miss you guys!

Auntie Jo's Final, Timeless Rules for Fitness and Whining

This guy is great! I have a hat of his, and it's kickass.

http://www.etsy.com/shop/ObeyMyBrain

I hate goodbyes. Especially long ones. Especially ones I didn't think of myself. And most especially those that take me away from the poolside blogging hut, complete with cabana people and fruity drinks and foot massages.

But, you know, some things just have to happen. As Gigi said, it's not everybody who can go out on a high note. She and I have been very lucky to get to blog with Crabby McSlacker in her prime, and I'm endlessly thankful for the opportunity.

That said, I can't go away without imparting some final long-winded yammering wisdom.

Thus, Auntie Jo's Timeless Rules for Fitness and Whining.

There are only three. See long goodbyes, above.

Rule Number Three: (we're doin' it Letterman-style!)

Do What You Like.

If you really hate running on the treadmill but have a ridiculous passion for Scottish country dancing, what the hell are you still doing on the treadmill? You might get fit that way, but you'll never get happy.

Rule Number Two:

All Things In Proportion.

Note here that I do not say "moderation". I'm not a big fan of moderation; life is meant to be experienced in (as Robert Heinlein said) big bites. Go big or go home, I say, with one caveat:

If what you're doing is out of proportion to the rest of your life, it will end up hurting you in the long run.

Trying to get rid of that last ten pounds is admirable. So is trying to run a marathon by your fiftieth birthday. BUT! If your obsession with or attention to those things are making you miserable every time you look in the mirror, or taking you away from things which ought to be more important, you need to moderate. You might reach your goal by being obsessive, but you won't be happy about it.

And, finally, Rule Number One:

Do What Makes You Happy.

Seriously. That's it. And that's it, coming from a person who has a whole stable of tips, techniques, and drugs to keep crushing depression and anxiety at bay.

Happiness is a goal, not a destination, yadda yadda yadda. Even in the absolutely worst times, though, you can still grab a little dose of happy. It might be through playing with your kids, or somebody else's kids, or patting a puppy, or doing an imitation of a drunken orangutan during your workout. Whatever it is, grab it and savor it. Never pass up the opportunity to giggle. Never pass up the opportunity to tell a really corny joke, or disco your way through step class, or generally be a lunatic, if that's what makes you happy. If what makes you happy is acting like Constipated Dick Cheney, then do that too, but stay the hell away from me.

Thanks again for your attention and support these last months. I'm available at both Head Nurse (nursey blogging goodness!) and The Wednesday Whine, which is my civilian blog.

See you on the track/in the gym/on a walk! (I'll be the one in the squid hat.)

Happy Trails To You....

Happy Trails, Crabby...(sniff)
Photo: whatleydude

I’ll be riding off into the Cranky Fitness sunset today as it is my last post here, although I can still be found at the less palatial offices of ChunkyMonkeyMama, where I’ll be brewing my own coffee and doing my own manicures from now on. Stakes are being pulled up and Crabby’s new camp will set up again in parts beyond here. She’s moving on but, as with every successful person and helpful friend we’ve had the pleasure to know and admire in life, she’ll be leaving a part of herself still here at Cranky Fitness while she takes on a new challenge elsewhere. I’m sad to have it end but oftentimes, the wisdom to know when something’s done, and to be able to step out at the top of your game, is undervalued in times like these. I cite Frank Sinatra’s many retirement “comebacks” when the last impression he left us was sounding (and looking) like Joe Cocker instead of the fabulous albums made with Nelson Riddle or Count Basie. The “American Pie” sequels go on and on like a herpes virus, and Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve - will somebody please tell him it’s time to get off the stage. Very few of us are lucky enough to go out on a high note and on our own terms but Crabby hit just the right balance here.

And speaking about balance, how genius was it of her to combine fitness – which many of us still view with loathing and contempt – with humor? If there’s one thing I’ve learned here (and it’s damned hard to teach this old dog new tricks), it’s that anything can be made more palatable when you add gentle humor and oh-so-subtle sarcasm. Or even ballpeen hammer sarcasm. Laughing at ourselves or the process lightens more than just the numbers on the scale (which I know is not the only measure of fitness, as we’ve discussed here many, many times) – it also elevates our spirits so we finally start believing that yes, we are supremely capable of achieving our fitness goals.

Crabby is a genuinely gifted writer. She has always been informative and funny, interested and inquisitive, and has always cared deeply about her friends and readers. Even her throw-away lines like, “your mileage may vary”, would leave me laughing. I hope the sadness she feels at leaving is somewhat tempered by how much she has contributed to the discussion and by how many of us she informed, entertained and befriended. I feel so honored to have been a part of it and hope she remembers me when I show up some day at the stage door of the Broadway theater at the premiere of “Cranky Fitness – The Musical!”

Good luck, my friend. Many thanks for the opportunity to work with you and all the laughs. You’ll be missed. 'Til we meet again.

So Long, Everyone!

Photo: LightIsBeauty

So, wow. This is my last scheduled post for Cranky Fitness.

I figured I should leave you all with some sort of thoughtful, inspiring finale. An earnest but well-crafted farewell, filled with genuine gratitude, a nostalgic round-up of fond memories, some sincere good wishes, and a few helpful, hopeful, final words.

Photo: Swami Stream

But then I realized that someone was actually gonna have to write the damn thing.

And wouldn't it be weird if Crabby McSlacker's goodbye post was earnest, thoughtful, and inspiring? I'd have to hire out, and you'd probably notice the difference, and you'd wonder where all the swear words and incomplete sentences went.

So I'm afraid you're stuck with regular old Crabby McSlacker, saying a rather half-assed goodbye. Sorry! I'll try to keep it short and simple.

First off, a few administrative things:

1. There are still a couple more days of the old Cranky Fitness, and Jo and Gigi haven't said their goodbyes yet. (And yeah, I know it's confusing that there are three of us).

2. Even after my cobloggers sign off, Cranky Fitness will still exist, just not as an ongoing blog--it will be more like a regular website. And there may still be occasional updates, so check back every now and then!

Also, I'm hoping to come back and organize the posts by topic so you can find things in the archives more easily. There is some actual health research back there, as well as questionable advice, bad puns, pointless quizzes, and a ridiculous number of LOLcat pictures and Natalie Dee cartoons. I promise I'll come back and knock some cobwebs off and tidy up the shelves a bit.

3. To cope with blog withdrawal symptoms, I may be using that dadburned newfangled "Twitter" thing I recently signed up for. I still don't quite get what the point is, but I've discovered that the 140 character limit is still more than enough space for me to express all my profound thoughts. I wonder if I'm brilliantly succinct? Or just completely empty-headed?

Wait, that was a rhetorical question...

Anyway, whether you're already on Twitter or if you just need an excuse to sign up so that you can find out what it's about, please follow me! Not that I'm desperate or anything. I don't mind being that geeky kid in the playground no one wants to eat lunch with. Really, it's nice not to have to share my sandwiches, and peace and solitude are conducive to deep and meaningful reflection, don't you think?

4. Some of you have asked about my new job: yes, it is web-based and involves health writing, hooray! But, well, I'm afraid it's a commercial-type site and not a blog. It involves medical equipment and honestly, it's not probably anything you'd want to read on purpose. The site hasn't launched yet, but when it does I'll mention it on Twitter, and you can go there and think: Oh! Well, Crabby was right, this isn't very much like Cranky Fitness. Let's just buy some expensive medical devices and then leave quietly and pretend we never clicked.

And now for some final thoughts:

Oh my gosh, I am SO going to miss you guys!

Some of you, like Leah and BunnyGirl, have been here from the first few posts. (This is back in the day when I wrote, quite awkwardly, in the third person. I don't actually recommend you go back that far to browse). Others of you have started coming to Cranky Fitness more recently. But none of you probably have any idea how much it's meant to me to get to hang with you.

I love reading your comments, visiting your blogs, receiving your emails, and spying on you through our stat program to see which pages you've visited and what search terms you used to get here. (Oh, sorry, did that last part creep you out? Don't worry, the stat program doesn't give bloggers your actual name or address or picture or anything. Yet.)

Cranky Fitness readers are unrivaled in their original, insightful, and hilarious comments on everything from self-esteem and weight discrimination to push-ups, fish oil, and semi-naked soccer players. I often share my favorite comments with the Lobster, and she agrees: you guys are the best.

And I've been especially lucky to share the blog with such wonderful cobloggers. Fortunately Merry, Jo, and Gigi all have blogs of their own and I hope you will follow them at Sheesh, Chunky Monkey Mama, and Head Nurse.

So gosh... I guess this is it! I've had a total blast with this thing.

Photo: Plan 59

Goodbye! Be good to yourselves! And thanks again for all the good times.


Over an' Out,
Crabby McSlacker