Wednesday, August 17, 2011

I think I ripped my pants

Since I started to get old and decrepit a few years back, I began judging everything in century to partial-century increments.

For example, in just 7 years, I will be a half century old.

That is old. That is so old, that they will not even sell you color balloons at the store anymore to celebrate it. They only have black ones that say "Over The Hill", taunting and chastising you for being so stupid and careless as to let yourself age.

Another benchmark just came up as I went out with Brittany to buy direly needed new pants tonight.

I now fit into a waist size I haven't worn since I was 18.

To give you a sobering perspective, that was a QUARTER CENTURY ago.

My firstborn, who carefully and wisely guided me away from the acid washed jeans that were still in style way back then, was not even born when I fit into them last.

I admit that P90X has done absolutely nothing to change back the white in my beard or put that sorely missed hair back atop my head, but I will take what I can get.

Today is Day 4 of the second run through P90X.

My three main reasons for starting and restarting it were 1) get more energy to get more done at work and home, 2) combat my pain condition and 3) stave off the guaranteed increased health problems awaiting me when I do turn a half century and then three quarters of a century, if I did not start doing so.

I will probably make an easier, custom workout at the end of this set of 90 days that is only 3 to 5 days a week, which will seem like a vacation from this 6 days a week.

In the meantime, I am hoping to draw out this sized waist just a little longer.

Maybe long enough for acid washed to come back in style. And maybe feathered hair on girls. I really loved that.

1 comment:

  1. Sobering post indeed, Patricio. In fact, I think I'll see a therapist today, since I'm exactly one month younger than you are and had no idea I was heading for black and white balloons. I have to admit, when I unexpectedly see my reflection and wonder why I'm always bumping into my dead grandmother, it's pretty shocking to see myself as the world does. And those close to me have promised to delete (or or at least not publish) any 'stroke face' photos of me, caught unawares with a cockeyed expression and a lower lip hanging off to one side like Mister Ed. So, thank you for the reality check...gotta go pack my acid jeans and surfboard- Going back to your favorite beach campground 'sans propane'. Good luck P90Xing. Long live Farah...