I’m a little manic today. Fortunately I know now that the manic highs and the depressing lows that have blighted me over the last year are not signs of bi-polar but yet another joyous symptom of the menopause. There can be benefits and I seek to find them. Unlimited (if short lived) energy being one of them (and a tendency to buy very expensive shoes)
But buying expensive shoes will not help with menopausal symptoms. I know this as I have checked through Google. Which is a shame as shoes and handbags always fit unlike bloody clothes that take it personally if you have one tiny bowl of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food Ice Cream.
Every book I have read recommends exercise for the menopausal woman. Apparently a bit of exercise will have me fighting off a number of menopausal symptoms including hot flushes, anxiety, irritability and osteoarthritis, In fact I get a rush of endorphins just reading about the benefits! Davina McCall who is almost as much my Hero as Helen Mirren says she feels “reborn” after a run. I was going to wait til the New Year to get started with my exercise regime because I want to finish all the selection boxes in the house so I can start ‘properly’. But I decide to put my manic phase to good use and start jogging so that I too will obtain Davina’s stunning body. Yesterday I got all organised. Fished out my trainers I bought in the sales 3 years ago – just like new. So like new they were still in the box. And I had to put the laces in. Downloaded a running playlist to my iphone as thanks to my 12 year old god daughter I can now use Spotify as well as paying them £10 a month which is much better value that simply paying £10 a month to have the picture on my phone. This then leads to two hours of finding more and more tunes and dancing around to some then crying my eyes out to others – another symptom of menopause is being easily distracted! I fished out my leggings that seem to have shrunk a bit since I got them – but I don’t worry too much as although not flattering, lycra is very forgiving. Unlike my bastarding Fat Face jeans. So no excuses for not getting going first thing the next day and setting out for a run. Before bed I peruse the London Marathon website – despite my manic mood I have to concur that it is unlikely I will be up to 26.2 miles by April 2018.
Then I get up this morning and the world is beautiful and white under 6 inches of snow. Even Liz McColgan will be in bed with a box of after eights and Netflix today – but not to be deterred, I decide to have a good hike with the dog instead.
I set off and thirty minutes later I ‘have a fall’ on thebecause the snow was cleverly disguising the thick frozen ice beneath Ten years ago I would have ‘fallen over’ and people would laugh as I got back up. But now I am at the age where I ‘have a fall’ and no one laughs. A couple of millennials are passing and come to help. Their friend for some inexplicable reason is recording it and helpfully advises another passer-by that ‘an old lady has had a fall’. FFS. I beg to feckin differ! I am not an old lady. I am younger that Helen Mirren by loads. I am now surrounded by a number of anxious faces (not my loyal caring dog though – she has decided not to use Greyfriars Bobby as her role model and instead take advantage of the situation by rolling in something disgusting with a look of glee on her face)
I am helped to my feet by the lovely millennials and the passer by who do a good job of hiding their shock that the big jacket I have on is covering lots of heavy flab and not lots of layers of light clothes. I fear one of them may need the services of an osteopath before the New Year. The filmer is now recording my kind caring loyal who is still rolling in god knows what. I have a horrible feeling this will end up on UTube.
I head for home. I’m actually fine – but no point in risking any more walking in the ice. I decide to pop to marks and spencer in the car to buy more of their reduced goodies that they couldn’t flog at Christmas to cheer me up. At the till my pelvis thrusts towards the metal rim of the conveyor belt – much to the shock of the poor guy on the till. Feckin Ladycare Magnet. I pull back and get served. I forget and as I pack my pelvis thrusts forward again. The checkout guy is now looking at me as if I am some bloody female version of Harvey Weinstein. I don’t feel like I can explain without looking totally deranged. I get my goodies and head off.
But I am not to be deterred – exercise is good – just look at the joy in Dogs face.