Like the aging process, portliness creeps up on you. With every line that appears on your face, another inch makes itself comfortable on your hips, if left unchecked.
How I wish I’d had a chat with my svelte younger self about eating healthily and told them to keep an eye on things. All too soon, your pert breasts and your taut butt take off on their journey south without you realising.
For me, the path to portliness started when I began to celebrate surviving another week at work by eating doughnuts. But that was okay, my colleagues were eating them too. Then I found I couldn’t wait until Friday for my doughnut sugar rush, so I started eating bacon butties at 11.a.m. Every day of the working week. But, that was okay too, because I always skipped breakfast.
Sport and English were the only two subjects I was passionate about when I was at school. When l left the hallowed halls of learning, I carried on trying to master the English language; which I’m still trying to do today. It was the same with the sport but, when I hit 40, my sporting life went into decline.
I was still a reasonable force to be reckoned on the tennis court, I played every day, as well as slotting in the odd game of hockey. But, by the time I was 45, my joints decided they’d had enough. I was hit by a collection of Autoimmune diseases, including Arthritis. After that, I was limited to a hobbling walk as my only form of exercise and taking prescription steroids ad infinitum, which was when my body’s journey south picked up the pace.
It was just little things I started noticing at first. When casting a furtive look at my reflection in a shop window, I noticed my boobs had started bouncing in sync with the rhythm of my walk, even when I was strapped into a sports bra.
Buying bras became a nightmare, none of them seemed to fit. I had been a 36B since my boobs erupted during my teenage years, but almost overnight, my 36B’s became 38C’s.
It was only when I woke up one morning and thought my jeans had shrunk, that I took a long hard look at myself in the mirror. The reflection of my portly middle-aged self was shocking.
I blame it on the steroids myself but, how I wish I had had that chat with my lithe younger self.
Categories: The Dotage Diaries