Recovery

Now that I'm in my late forties and riddled with aches and pains, I find I need more recovery time.  Not only from working out, but from life in general. As much as I don't want to admit it, I'm slowing down a bit. I'd say I'm doing it to savor the moment, but I'm not. Not purposely anyway.  I'm doing it to survive. You can't help but listen to your body at this age because it's shouting at you with a megaphone.  "You're too old for this shit!"  Also, you really know you're old when you learn to enjoy life's simple pleasures: a good night's sleep and taking a really satisfying shit.

Last Friday night I went out with friends. I know, I was shocked too. Because there's nothing I like more on a Friday night than to have a quiet pajama party on my couch while watching the latest horror flick. Namely, Frontline or a Black Mirror episode. Which inevitably turns into a slumber party when I fall asleep on the couch before 10pm.  Because I know how to party! Anyhow, Friday night was different.  I had a nice meal, went to listen to a friend's band play at a bar and drank too much wine as evidenced by the fact that I danced at a bar in front of real live people. Until midnight.  I didn't even know I could stay up until midnight anymore. Because regardless of what time I go to bed, my achy body won't allow me sleep past 6:30am. So, the next day is spent in recovery mode.  Honestly, probably the next two days.

Then there are my workouts on the pole. I've been pole dancing for four and a half years now.  And I've only gotten more obsessed with it as time goes on. I watch other dancers' videos and wonder why I can't do what they do. Never mind that most of the dancers I watch are people who are 20 years younger than me, who don't have the distraction of kids, but do have more time and disposable income to go to classes, expositions, competitions and buy impossibly high heels to dance in that I would somehow impale myself with. I'm calling them suicide shoes. It's definitely safest and more cost effective for me to continue to dance barefoot. But, the toll it takes on my body is cost enough.  My body might look 20 years younger than it is, but at the end of the day, I feel all 47 years.  I'm constantly sore and exhausted, and complaining about how sore and exhausted I am.  I spend far more time recovering from dancing than I do actually dancing.  Also,  I buy the big bottle of ibuprofen at Costco.

But, by far, the most difficult recovery is from regrets. Like, I regret that I kinda ditched new friends when old friends unexpectedly showed up at the music venue on Friday night.  I regret I didn't start stretching to increase my flexibility years ago or I'd be able to do so much more on the pole. I'm talking almost double the tricks I can do now.  And then there's the Women's March over the weekend, which I didn't attend.  I thought it was only happening in D.C.  And since I have kids to nag, drive all over town, remind to do their homework and cook meals they'll hate for, I didn't give attending a second thought. And then I regretted it. I regretted it so hard! Not only standing up for women, but for the rights of all Americans that are threatened, by making my voice heard in peaceful protest.  Unfortunately, regret doesn't rectify or change anything. That's when I first heard about the petition calling for Trump to release his tax returns and recovered (at least in part) by signing it.

If you feel the President should disclose his financial interests and potential conflicts of interest to the American people he serves, you can sign the petition here and make your voice heard. Let's put the truth out there so we can begin our recovery from this divisive election as a nation.