What body is this?

It’s one o’clock in the morning as I write this. And no, Reader, I am not a night owl who does her best work after the world has gone to sleep. Quite the opposite, in fact. I am often in bed as the hands on the clock strike eight thirty, deeply grateful that the time has come to get cozy in my duvet and crack open a juicy novel.

Why am I awake at this God-forsaken hour of the night? Because I have a love-hate relationship with red wine.

I am no stranger to terrible sleep patterns. My REM is often disrupted by stress or hormones, causing me to sneak downstairs to read in the middle of the night, hoping the soft rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall lulls me back into Dream Land. The correlation to red wine, however, seems to have forged in the last few months and I am deeply annoyed by it.

I understand that age alters metabolism. As a result, in recent years I have given up meat, most dairy products, and sugar. Not because I am a diehard health nut who treats her body as a temple, but because of the way those foods make me feel. Bloated, gassy, painful stomach aches ravaged my late thirties until I slowly learned which foods my body could tolerate. The list of banned substances seems to be ever-growing in my quest to feel good. I can live without ice cream, bread, and steak. But now red wine? Come on! Give a girl a break!

As I type these words in the wee hours of the morning, I am pondering other ways my body is changing. Perimenopause seems to be the gift that keeps on giving!

Night sweats are a treat. I swear they started the day after I turned forty when I woke up marinating in my own juices. These spells seem to come and go, cycling with my hormones. There will be weeks when my internal furnace functions optimally and others when someone has cranked the thermostat to “Flaming Hot Cheetos” levels. Waking up with my t-shirt soaking wet and stuck to my skin has really put a damper on morning cuddles with my hubby. It’s just not cute.

All of this makes me wonder when I should stop ingesting that little white pill I’ve religiously swallowed since I was a sixteen-year-old girl. At what point do I cease to chemically control my hormones and let my body follow its natural course? And what will happen when I do? If insomnia and night sweats are pushing through the chemical barrier of a regulated cycle, what the holy hell will happen when the road is “all clear”? I’m aware that the signs are beginning to point towards Menopause Town, but I also fear an unexpected detour into Pregnancy-ville. Just the thought of strollers, bottles, and diapers makes me want to keep taking The Pill well into my eighties.

And, just to make you giggle, I will admit to trying face yoga recently. Apparently, the Instagram algorithms are detecting my age, as face yoga apps keep popping up in my feed. One app suggestion, I could bypass with ease. Two piqued my curiosity. Three made me examine my jawline in the mirror. Suddenly, it made sense. I have always exercised the rest of my body but have naively ignored my face. Did you know there are forty-three muscles which I’ve been neglecting?

Now, in the privacy of my bathroom, I can be found looking waaay up and sticking my tongue out as far as it will go. I stretch my neck like an elderly turtle and make O shapes with my mouth. But you’ve gotta keep that jawline taut, girl!

Despite the increasing unfamiliarity I have with my body, I am also growing to love her more and more. It’s paradoxical, I know. After years of rigorous activity in the pursuit of athleticism—cross fit, marathons, triathlons… After jogging thousands of miles to keep myself fit… I have learned to approach exercise in a gentler, loving way. My daily runs have been replaced by long walks where I listen to audiobooks and podcasts. My face yoga is complemented by “normal person yoga” stretching my body in a graceful way. I’ve learned to appreciate going to the gym because weightlifting makes me feel strong.

I am listening to my body more and more, realizing that she tells me what she needs. And, after serving me well for four and a half decades and birthing two babies, I am learning that she sometimes deserves a break. Go easy today, Kel, I am tired.

Even though I am ten pounds heavier than I was a few years ago, I can honestly say this is the most confident I’ve ever felt in my own skin. Maybe age and wisdom has put things in perspective a little.
​
So, even though my body demands that I give up red wine…
Even when she sweats during the night like I’ve slept in the fiery pits of Hell…
Even when she begins to look differently in the mirror…
I am grateful for her strength and endurance.
May we grow old together.