Careening Toward Mid-Life

A not unserious thought came in my head today as I was walking to Starbucks to purchase my six dollar, 600 gajillion calorie beverage.

Having hit 35 recently, <Carrie>I couldn’t help but wonder</Carrie>: At what point should I give up hope of ever being shredded?

When I look at myself in the mirror now, I notice wrinkles around my eyes, skin spots like my grandpa used to have, greys sprouting on my head. In my 20s, I hit the gym religiously, at one point even doling out a grand for a personal trainer. I’m not out of shape per se, but shirtless selfies look ridiculous now compared with how I looked at 26. My six-pack strains to break free from the fluffy confines of late night pasta dinners.

Existentialist questions (“Is there all there is?”; “What have I done with my life?”) notwithstanding, I’m more than curious to find out how people deal with this physical transition.

If looking good nekkid (LGN) were more of a priority, I’d get my act together. But I like my life and lifestyle. I occasionally make it to the gym. I eat somewhat healthily. I take regular showers. Looking all shredded just seems like too much work, with little return at this point in my life.

Should I abandon all hope now?

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