Something strange is happening and I don’t like it.
Not one bit.
It started a few weeks ago, I noticed that my hair was starting to thin on one side of my head.
I don’t have much going for me but I really liked my hair.
And my nose.
A week or so later my brother and his girlfriend got engaged.
I was so happy for them, they’ve decided to get married in 2018 which is brilliant.
‘I’ll be 40 then’ I thought. 40.
I’ve already mentioned in previous posts that I’m not one of those slim humans.
So, this realisation over a couple of days made my brain go
“You’re approaching 40, you’re fat, you’re balding and you’re unmarried. Well done love” (my brain is a hateful thing)
Needless to say I had a few days when I was in a bit of a funk and I think it’s around this time the ‘thing’ happened.
Every Wednesday evening my friend and I go for a walk. An attempt to do fit type activity and an hour away from the house and children.
We call it ‘Walk it Wednesday’, catchy right? One particular WiW I found myself saying
“I saw there’s a 5k colour run on October 1st, shall we sign up?”
Now, here’s where E was meant to say laugh hysterically and say
But she didn’t.
I hate running.
And physical activity.
And people throwing stuff at me.
I went home and signed us up, cursing my mouth for being louder than my brain (which was currently going “WTF Anna?! Not your brightest idea).
Rory was delighted. He’s one of those terribly sporty types. He gets grumpy if he doesn’t play football or go for a run a few times a week. If we’re in a park and people are playing football you can see him pulling at an invisible leash, wanting to run over and join in. The look of delight in his face if the ball comes near him is wonderful! The glee as he kicks it back to the group!
He is diametrically opposite to me.
So if I announce I’ll do something exercisey he is over the moon and I feel obliged to see it through.
My parents have offered to have the children for a few days at the start of the Summer holidays.
We decided we’d definitely take a well earned, long overdue mini break, just the two of us.
We threw lots of ideas into the pot.
Rome, Greece, Italy,Croatia, Germany…
Lots of far flung places.
Then last night, just as we were falling asleep…
Mouth – “For our mini break we could do one of those three peaks things you do”
Brain – *wakes up with a start* “WTactualF? We were going to sleep!”
Mouth – “We’ll have to do it slow, like over two days”
Brain – “JUST STOP TALKING, CHRIST MAN WHAT ARE YOU PLAYING AT!!!”
The damage was done, in the dark I could hear Rory’s eyes light up.
He started saying things like “Ben Nevis” and “Snowdon” they sound like proper mountain names (neither are in the Lake district as far as I’m aware).
OK,maybe not but I should imagine it looks a lot like this.
Then he started talking about ‘proper walking boots’ and how cropped jeans wouldn’t be appropriate walking attire.
My whole self was awake now.
Not only do I hate physical activity, I also hate hills.
I like looking at them.
I like being up the top of them.
I like the view.
I just hate getting up them.
I also hate ugly footwear.
I hate Ugg boots, Crocs and gladiator sandles.
I certainly hate walking shoes.
No one ever in the history of humankind has said
“You know what would complete that outfit? A nice pair of walking shoes”.
Rory also said that I had no appropriate tops.
I’d need *wretch* a FLEECE!.
I did a sick in my mouth just looking at it.
I’m not professing to be the most glamorous or stylish person by any stretch of the imagination but I DO Know aesthetics and what is pretty.
A fleece isn’t pretty unless you’re a sheep.
I AM NOT SHEEP.
Instead of looking for sunshine, culture and cuisine, I am now looking for a hotel or lodge near a mountain. Hopefully with a bath and a seating area for Rory to dump me in the following day when I can no longer move.
So, to sum it up.
I’m apparently having a midlife crisis.
I’m suggesting exercise activities in a ‘fun’ capacity.
My wardrobe is going to be adjusted to include ‘functional’ and ‘practical’ clothing that will, without a doubt, look middle aged and serve to make me feel older and frumpier.
We’ve also established my brain and mouth are no longer connected, indicating that I’m heading to that time in old age where I will say stuff without censoring myself.
WON’T SOMEONE PLEASE SEND HELP.
AND PRETTY SHOES.
EDIT – If you’re at all interested in ‘enjoying’ the full ‘adventure’ (for I’m told that’s what it was) check these out
The Tale of Mummyhood