If you’re a woman and over 40, this one’s for you
You know that pithy jingle of childhood: “I’m rubber and you’re glue. Whatever I say bounces off me and sticks to you”?
That keeps bouncing about in my head to describe the Midlife 5. Those stubborn 5 pounds that cling to the midriff or tush for dear life. Refusing to let go. Being the glue to your rubber.
Now, I’m not overweight. I’m fit – though I’ve been fitter – and petite. Thus while the adding or subtracting of several pounds may be imperceptible to the public eye, for me, they’re anything but. Butt.
A week before my birthday a week ago, my poor health took a nosedive. Between that and my imminent birthday, I decided to get seriously focused and disciplined about diet. As it was, while it wasn’t bad, there was definitely room for tweakings and improvement.
I also set my mind to shedding those Midlife 5. Those “I’m Rubber and You’re Glue” pounds that creep up and stay put with the stubbornness of the pothead lazy loafer nephew on the couch staring at the TV, hand perpetually in a Doritos bag, refusing to get up and go get a job. (caveat: in a normal healthy capitalist economy)
For sure the Midlife 5 is fed by age. Let me tell you ladies who aren’t there yet. The myth about those pounds being an entity with a mind and force of its own is no myth.
It’s also my lifestyle. It’s more sedentary than it has ever been. I’ve always been highly active tomboy. However, some 2-1/2 years of unemployment, poverty, life-obliterating depression, health problems induced by months of seamless gray damp dreariness, the isolation of joblessness and other stuff that would kill a lesser soul have taken their toll.
And served as open invitation to 5 pounds.
At this stage and age, the secret to prying them off is proving to be: an allotment of three lettuce leaves. A week.
I set a target of shedding those 4 or 5 pounds by month’s end (over a 3-week period). No rush. No pressure. Through disciplined, healthful and nutritional and regular eating (irregular eating being my major pitfall). It’s not like I’m preparing for my high school reunion or anything.
So how’s it progressing?
Better to ask how quickly does a snail complete a quarter mile around the track.
The pounds surely don’t fly off like they used to. I’m about halfway there.
I’ll continue advancing forward, even as the stubborn Midlife 5 croon and taunt in the background: “I’m rubber and you’re glue … whatever I say bounces back and sticks on you.”
They may have age as their weapon. But I’ve got mine too: