47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project Part Nine

47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project

Part 9: Weeks Eleven and Twelve

That was thin, this is now
I’m sure you’re chomping at the bit, so let’s start with the update.

Monday May, 18
Week Eleven weigh-in (drum roll)…
217 lbs. (Down 28 lbs. 19 to go)

Awesome. I’m down 28 pounds. And I’m feeling great about myself. Aren’t I the best? I wish my arms were longer, because I could just pat myself on the back all day. Ah, “Pride”, the deadly sin. Reality Check!

A huge fan of the old Comedy Warehouse in Orlando posted some vintage photos and videos on Facebook. There I am circa 1994, weighing about 185. That is a pretty thin Steve. I started this project at 245. Sixty pounds heavier. Sixty pounds! That’s a Chenoweth. Here I am so proud of my 28 pound loss – and it isn’t even half way to the old me. Oh, crap. Admittedly, I’m not shooting for 185, but I sure feel a lot less far down the road. Huff, puff. Man, I had let myself go.

The Hill – Get over it!
Which brings me to the “mid-life Crisis” part of the project. Mid-life sucks. We all hit a period, somewhere between the ages of around 37 – 50, when we measure the reality of our life against our dreams. And let’s face it; unless you’re Brad Pitt boning Angelina Jolie in your multi-millionaire money marriage mansion, your dreams are probably kicking your life’s ass. Life goes from being about possibilities to being about limitations. We get tied to responsibilities, jobs, spouses, children, aging parents. There tends to be less time for self, for pursuing, for creating.

I can’t tell you how many people I know who are struggling to some degree right now. There are suddenly money stresses. Jobs are going away. Kids are reaching college age. There are health issues cropping up. I have them. Hemorrhoid? How did I get a hemorrhoid? Those belong to 80 year-old men named Morris. I’ve talked some friends off the proverbial ledge, and have had the same done for me. There is the sudden realization of a down-hill slope. We will not be getting younger, healthier, or prettier. As I said, “Mid-life sucks.”

For many of us, minor depressions set in. We aren’t completely happy, which translates into “not happy with ourselves”. So, we don’t treat ourselves well. We eat poorly. We don’t exercise, and a few years later we’re sixty pounds heavier and in the worse shape of our lives – my life.

Then, hopefully, there’s a wake-up call. I got mine. There’s plenty of life ahead, and tons to do and accomplish. I see so many people – post mid-life crisis, really enjoying life. They move toward maturity with a calm peace and joy. They revel in their children, cherish their relationships, savor their retirements. It’s as if they’ve embraced the idea that “This don’t last forever, people”. Let’s have a blast while we can. My dad was really living that way when the cancer came. He deserved a few more years, but I am so glad that he didn’t slave away and never reap. If he were here right now, he would tell you that the best time of his life was his sixties. Take that, whining mid-lifers.

No Gain - Pain
I’m still not exercising as much or as well as I should. We’ve been in full rehearsal for the Fellowship of the Ring musical. And man, do I ache. I guess it’s to be expected. There’s a lot of running around, and you move your body, and hold it in ways that you aren’t used to. Joint pain. My ankles and my knees are killing me. So, I find myself resting up during my down time, rather than going to the gym.

I think I have a little bone chip in the knee. I went down on it, and it felt as though I had set my knee down on a tack. Youch! (Bought knee pads since). Great, I stopped smoking joints and now my joints are smoking me. Wocka Wocka!

Thankfully though, I have discovered Balboa Park. Discovered, HA! I’ve lived here for a decade and finally visited the biggest park in the valley. It’s just lovely, and I’ve taken to walk/running the long trail around the golf course. It’s a little over 4 miles. I have the iPod make a genius playlist and off I go. I love it. When my right knee stops throbbing I am so there.

Monday May, 25
Week Twelve weigh-in (drum roll)…
216 lbs. (Down 29 lbs. 18 to go)

Screw it. I’m patting myself on the back, anyway.