I used to be a dancer. A chubby dancer, but toe shoes and tap shoes still count, right? My mother started me dancing when I was two years old. I endured weekly lessons and yearly recitals until I was about thirteen. Not a team sports kinda girl, it’s a good thing I had these weekly opportunities to move my body. I developed strong legs, flexible joints, and (dare I say) a bit of grace. I believe this early training set me up in life to be more agile and coordinated. I liken it to regular deposits in my ‘physical’ bank account.
Approaching fifty, I guess you could say I’ve been auditing my state of affairs. Aside from the obvious (weight loss), I am coming to terms with my dwindling energy reserves and (lack of) physical prowess. It occurs to me that I’ve been surviving on my trust fund–the physical deposits made in my earlier years, with only occasional boosts to the account as I yo-yo’ed through the next three decades.
The cold, hard truth is that my account is drying up. I can’t believe how weak I’ve become! I hobble for a bit upon rising from a chair, my joints ache, and I have become less sure-footed. I can think of three falls I’ve taken in the last year! I’m an old lady at forty-nine. How could I have let this happen?!?
Recently, I was diagnosed with autoimmune thyroid disease. This may account for some of my lethargy. I don’t yet know the severity, or what, if anything I can do about it. I have an appointment with an endocrinologist in a few weeks and will hopefully get some answers. But I’m worried about myself. I’m worried that I will succumb to inertia. I’m worried that I won’t be able to put myself back together again. I’m worried about my ability to reverse this track I’m on. I must remember how hard it is this time to pick myself up and dance again.