Growing old ... gracefully?

It's about that time of year when I begin to question my career choices. The students are surly, the cold early mornings make me even grumpier than usual when my alarm goes off at 6:15, and I'm just plain exhausted.

For the last couple of weeks, I've hardly been able to get out of the bed, for some reason. My lethargy is not the result of a deep depression or anything nearly as dramatic as that; it's merely because I'm tired. Dead tired. I can't figure it out, and Cal thinks it's unusual, too. In the past I've been the one to kid him about his early nights. Lately, though, I've hit the sheets long before he's even ironed his clothes or shaved for the next morning. I'm starting to feel old.

I'm turning 30 in just a few months, and I really wonder if my age is starting to affect my body in a few ways. Now before you get all "30 isn't old!" on me, let me clarify. I'm not about to die, and I'm certainly not about to give up on life. Heck, I'm thinking I've got at least a good 50 more years left, and hopefully more than that.

All I'm saying is that I am finally (and unfortunately) starting to show some signs of aging. For example ...

Wrinkles. I first noticed a few forehead creases the year I started teaching, but the wrinkles of late are a bit different. These facial distortions are most prominent in the mornings when I get out of bed, and they are, primarily, etched into the side of my face that I tend to sleep on the most.

Because of these lovely red streaks, I'm no longer able to roll out of bed and be at school in 20 minutes. It's not that my "beauty regimen" takes any longer than it used to; no, the problem is that the pillow creases (we used to call them "battle scars") on my face now take well over an hour to fade away ... shower or no shower. Unless I want my 1st period class knowing my exact sleeping patterns as shown by the marks on my right cheek (facial, of course), I have to allow time for them to go away and my face to puff back out to its natural proportions. And that means rising early. Used to be that they were gone within 5 minutes of lifting my body from my mattress. Sigh.

The other day, Elizabeth and I were discussing another sign of aging that we've both noticed recently, and it has to do with weight gain. I have officially gained 10 pounds since my wedding in June. 10 pounds! How does that happen? Sure, I've been eating more than I was before, and sure I haven't exercised like I used to. But 10 pounds?

The scarier side of the weight issue is that it's suddenly not coming off like it used to. Since Christmas, I've cut back on my eating a good bit and I've exercised a lot more, all to no avail. Nothing. The scale hasn't budged. If anything, I'm up a pound or two. AND, although I'm still 25 pounds less than I was when I lost a good bit of weight 3 years ago, I'm currently wearing some of the same sizes that I did BEFORE those 25 pounds came off. Someone explain that one to me.

The only thing I can figure is that age (and gravity) is causing the extra pounds to settle differently than they used to. Used to be that I gained weight and, well, I had a little bit of excess (somewhat) thinly spread out everywhere. Now, I gain weight, and I have a lot of excess, thickly padded right onto the general vicinity of my backside. My butt, in other words.

In a recent attempt to curb this disturbing migration of fat, I took it upon myself to do some walking lunges at the gym Monday night. I only did, like, 3 sets. Maybe. I was sore immediately, however, and I've been hobbling around like a 90-year-old with a broken tailbone ever since. Seriously.

Yesterday, I tried and tried to resist my daily afternoon diet coke. The reason? I would have to go up to the second floor of the school to get it from the machine in the teacher's lounge, and I just wasn't convinced that my tortured muscles could get me through that daunting flight of stairs. The solution when I gave in to the impossible temptation? I took the elevator. The elevator reserved for kids with broken legs or sprained ankles. The elevator with a "do not use unless injured" sign on it. A glorified handicapped lift, in other words. Oh yes. It's true. I went when everyone else was at lunch so no one would see. I was so embarrassed.

This morning I woke up somewhat improved, and I was encouraged. Somehow, however, between attempting to teach Alice Walker to a bunch of 1st perioders who hadn't read the assigned material and 2nd perioders who had but couldn't care less, I managed to "overcompensate" (term borrowed from Cal's athletic vocab) for the sore muscles and pulled something. Something in my butt. Something I didn't even know existed until about 9 hours ago. Great.

So tonight Cal's off playing a tennis match and I'm here at home, in my pajamas, blogging with the food network on in the background. I figure I'll head on to bed soon.

It is, you know, almost 6:30.