Thursday, June 7, 2012
“Now you see how I feel!” I heard recently after I tried to cram a month’s worth of exercise into one day as part of a “take the stairs” contest that was being held at work. Instead of working my way up, so to speak, I decided to go down 22 flights of stairs not once, not twice, not three times but four, yes, four times. That’s 88 flights of stairs.
And it hurt. In fact, it hurt so darn bad that I woke up the next day and seriously considered calling in sick to work. I probably would have, too, if the phone had been within reach of the bed. Instead, I spent five minutes cursing, 10 minutes trying to stretch and massage my calves, and about 15 praying. I figured that was a good, healthy balance.
I hobbled into work, and thanked God for elevators as I pushed the button. I believe they really are a gift from above. I realized it must be bad when a co-worker suggested I use Bengay, and I actually thought that sounded like a good idea.
Sadly, that’s not the only sign that I might not be as young as my mind thinks I am. Earlier in the week, I got a new computer that required the screen to be pushed farther back on my desk. It was then that I realized something was wrong with the font. I don’t care what the size said, I couldn’t read it. Obviously, it was broken. There was no way I needed large print.
I squinted and strained until desperation and a deadline required me to ask a co-worker whom I knew had larger font how to change mine.
I whispered the request into her ear.
Peels of laughter and a hearty, “Welcome to the club!”
Then, to my horror, she then turned to a much younger co-worker and said, “You changed my font. Can you please change Leigh’s? She can’t see the screen.”
In my mind I heard her add, “She’s getting old.”
He may have been wondering what I was thinking about his first sign of aging (though I don’t think men wonder such things), but the truth was I felt pure delight. To me, it meant I no longer had to read his menus.