Aging is a journey that no one truly prepares you for. Sure, we all notice the subtle changes—those fine lines creeping around the eyes and the furrows forming on our foreheads. With every passing year, I’ve leaned closer to the mirror, scrutinizing the slow transformation of my reflection. Advertisements for skincare have been warning me about aging since 1971, promoting a $5 bottle of fragrant lotion as the solution to my impending wrinkles.
But what about the C-section scar that seems to deepen annually, and that stubborn flap of skin that seems to have a mind of its own? Nobody tells you to appreciate your body’s imperfections until they start to accumulate. When I look back at photos from races I completed fifteen years ago, I’m shocked by how youthful my knees appeared—now they resemble crepe paper left to gather dust in the corner.
I find myself wondering what my body looked like before the sagging midsection became a reality. Did I have a jiggly belly at 20? Back then, I was too busy fretting over my “peach-like” stomach to appreciate its youthful vibrancy. I probably thought collagen was just an old person’s soap, but now I understand it was the key to maintaining that youthful glow, which seems to have vanished the day I turned 42. On that day, I felt the essence of youth slip away like pearls scattering under the bed.
Despite my best efforts to defy time—through Pilates and running—my body has begun to betray me with tendonitis and plantar fasciitis. It’s ironic, really; according to WebMD, plantar fasciitis is a condition typically associated with older and heavier individuals. I love people of all shapes and sizes, but if I’m destined for osteopenia because I’ve weighed less than 120 pounds for most of my life, I’d like to request a redo.
I don’t yearn for the younger version of myself, the one who despised her peach belly and lacked confidence. Those past selves feel like awkward relatives I’d rather not engage with at family gatherings. I see enough of myself in them to recognize our connection, but I wouldn’t call us friends.
This newer iteration of me—wiser, stronger, and undeniably fierce—has its own set of struggles. Just yesterday, during my annual mammogram, the nurse firmly squeezed my slightly drooping breasts between two plates of glass. As I gripped the machine with white knuckles and felt sweat trickle down my back, she asked, “Are you okay?” I realized that my body could be the next thing to betray me in this aging process, but I’d figure it out, just like I’ve always done.
This body has evolved from the perfect little baby to a landscape marked by time. We change lives, nurture families, and create beautiful things. As our souls expand, it seems natural that our bodies would bear the marks of our journeys—dents and scars that tell the story of our lives. I find myself reflecting on that age-old advice: “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.”
I’m only halfway through this adventure, and I anticipate many more challenges ahead. So now, perhaps is the perfect time to appreciate the body I inhabit: the strong arms, the “bingo wings,” the sagging breasts, and the slightly dimpled thighs that can still carry me forward. She might not be a perfect sight, but she’s mine.
“Are you okay?” the nurse asked again.
“Sure,” I managed to reply through clenched teeth. “I’m okay.”
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In summary, aging is a natural process that brings both challenges and wisdom. Instead of longing for the past, let’s embrace our present selves, recognizing the strength and beauty that comes with every year.