Who’s old?

I’ve always said I couldn’t possibly be a senior because I was never middle-aged. Middle-age was always at least ten years older than me. Well, that argument went out the window when I hit 70. There’s something about being a septuagenarian that changes your perspective.

For me, it meant not only accepting my age and being a senior citizen, but embracing it. I care a lot less about what others think of me. I wear clothes that are comfortable, not fashionable. I let my arms flap, my belly flop, and my boobs sag. There are a lot of years on this body, good and bad. I’ve had surgeries, I’ve taken falls, I’ve gone from glasses to contacts to cataracts to reading glasses, small feet to not-so-small feet, cute 5′ 3″ 125# to still cute 5′ 1.5″ 145#, and I’m still kicking.

With all the walking we did in Europe – meadows, hills, stairs, cobblestones – I bought a folding walking cane and a different tip.  You can’t take traditional walking sticks on the planes due to the pointed tip. This one is different – it gives me the stick profile but works like a cane. Since my osteoporosis diagnosis, I am working hard to not fall. A hard fall in a foreign country wouldn’t be fun.

Now my challenge in the next few months is to lose at least five pounds, preferably ten, and walk at least thirty minutes a day. I’ve been ignoring the treadmill and that has to change. With the TV there, I have no excuse to NOT WALK!