My metabolism suffered a crushing blow yesterday.
I was formally kicked out of the YMCA. I had been using my parents’ gym membership, and someone finally noticed that I wasn't 61.
I could sign up for a new membership, but that would require a yearlong commitment, and even if I am going to be in Fort Wayne for that long, there's no way I'll overcome my denial and admit it.
This is all very troubling for two reasons:
1) I had almost convinced myself that I would run a half marathon in late December. I've done 6, and could probably go further, at least on the track inside my heated gym. But it's cold here, like 30 degrees with snow and ice on the ground. I can handle 45 degrees, 40 even. But I have to be honest with myself: Am I really going to start running 10 + miles as my eyelashes freeze and snow smacks me in the face? Unlikely.
2) I was in DC last week for interviews, and was shocked and appalled to discover that I could no longer fit into my suits. And then, to make the horror worse, the tight waist crisis sparked a nightmare about Bill Clinton. I dreamt I met him at a party on a cruise boat, one thing led to another, and then, well... Flash forward several months, and I realize that the reason I can't get into my suits is... You guessed it: I'm having Slick Willie's illegitimate child.
I woke up, sweating, and then had to run to the bathroom to throw water on my face. I couldn't fall back to sleep for 15 minutes.
I guess there's always yoga. Or very long, bundled walks?
I'll have to figure out something soon, or I'll be too afraid to sleep at night.
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