I'm 170 Years Old. I Just Want Abs.

I am an impatient fool. To quote Queen, "I want it all, and I want it now." 👑

But everything takes time.

I am in relentless pursuit of some semblance of definition. I want abs, just once, just long enough to take a picture for evidence. #NoFilter

Scrolling through fitness accounts online, it looks like any fitchick was bestowed abs with their first pair of Gymshark leggings. A magical package deal. 🎁

Maybe that's the catch - I don't wear leggings by Gymshark. Or Nebbia. Or Better Bodies. Or Stronger. Or Aimin. Have you seen what these things cost??? 🤦🏻‍♀️

All joking aside, I would rather believe that it's because I am no longer in my 20's, and after 30, life in general gets more challenging. 🤷🏻‍♀️

So, have I missed the boat on having an enviable midsection?

My inner critic makes efforts to remind me of this, but wiser and more experienced people keep providing evidence to the contrary. 

It's possible, it just gets more difficult to achieve. 

At 38, I am feeling as though it's unforgivingly difficult. 

I understand that a lot of people will say that you're only as old as you feel. I'm one of them, admittedly. 

I can't help but feel that my bodily is in a mood where it wants to remind me about the fact that, despite feeling about 22, I'm creeping up on double that age. 🖕🏻🏚️

My hormones are all over the place. I am 9 weeks out of 10, likely on some variation of a period. 

My skin is a blistered mess; I don't recall ever having skin this irate during puberty. 🍕

I am tired a lot; though I can't quite tell if that's my age, or the daily crushing weight of reality as I understand it. 🧟

I have started to see the sagging that happens to skin. My boobs look like stockings "hung by the chimney with care", and if it's possible, I swear I am accumulating more armpit and bra bulge fat - though it's far more likely that I see it that way because it's a more stubborn fat deposit than surrounding areas. 💩💨

The skin on my tummy looks like...well...loose. My belly button is starting to frown (photo provided for evidence).

I know that these things happen. Skin loses collagen and elasticity, and starts to look like you can pinch and pull it, much like taffy. 

Right now, I can't help but feel like I wasted my opportunity to have a great physique in my 20's, and now I'm driving energy into a futile effort; that no matter how hard I work, it won't show. 

I sometimes ask myself why it matters. Why pursue it?

Will it make me happier? Will it keep my husband devoted? Will I live longer? Will I be more successful for it?

Probably not.

I am stubborn, though, and I want to silence my inner doubt. I

 want to prove to myself, that I can do this. 

Most days, it's not difficult to tell myself that I can do this, and I am doing this.

In the gym, I'm having a hard time pushing through cardio, mentally. But switching from the elliptical to incline treadmill walking makes my mind freak out a little bit. 

Am I burning enough calories?

Is one as effective as the other?

Do I need to recalculate my macros in order to adapt?

It's a pain in the ass. It would be nice though, to finish a workout and look like I stepped out of a magazine. 👻

But that's not how it works. 

We don't love ourselves overnight, and we don't see those results from one workout to the next. 

I can hear you rolling your eyes. I dislike it as much as you do.

So, we keep plugging away, because we know that the results come over time. A long time. It takes eons to learn to love ourselves, and lots of time to change our bodies.

Months. Years, even. 

So, on we go. Tracking our macros, making sure to get the most nutritionally balanced calories we can. Keeping consistent, 80% of the time.  Keep training and leaving it all "on the floor" at the gym. The progress pictures will gradually reveal changes. Whether they're what we dreamed or not, we'll find as time goes on. 

In the meantime, I will stop looking to those up to their early 30's (because 35 was absolutely a point of transition for my body) for inspiration.

I'll find the pocket of 40+ sheroes. The ones who have trained themselves to defy the forces of the biological clock, and have dominated their frowning belly buttons and long boobs. 

I am consistently working towards tolerance for my shell; it's not loving myself, but it's well on the way. 

Hell, maybe I'll even see some abs.  After all, I know it's possible; it just takes time. 

Hail yourselves,

S