I turned 30 about 2 months ago. Yes, 30, and yes, it is painful to type that. I was a little, um, terrified of that number, but it's come, it's gone, and there's no stopping it now. And I figured, really, I was in some of the best shape of my life, healthy, fit, happy, strong, great family, stable. So, what's 30, really?
But I turned 30 while we were having visits from our daughters (who each live with the other parent) and Eric's niece. We baked more than usual. We ate out more than usual. We took some shortish and weekend road trips, and drank sodas and ate Sun Chips and cheese dips and hotel breakfasts. Did I mention we baked a lot?
And the net result of that was about 7 pounds extra (7 pounds in 6 weeks) of which 4-5 are stubborn and trying to become permanent. No big deal, I just need to get back on the elliptical/bike/step machine/walks with the family.
Last week, I'm not sure how (but I know it wasn't interesting or exciting), but I hurt my neck and shoulder. The pain comes in waves, but for about a week now, the left side of my neck has been really sore. It might have been from moving up the next size in weights too soon. Or laying in a weird position in bed to write in my journal. No matter how I got it, it HURTS, and I've been relatively inactive - no weights for right now - to try to help it heal. I'd visit a doctor, but I'm not sure there's much they could do.
Motrin helps some. Icy Hot does too, but then I smell like an old person. The perfume I put on to cover it made me smell like an old person wearing Peony perfume.
Tonight, my dear husband suggested out of nowhere - and my husband never suggests this out of nowhere - that we go out for some dinner. Guthrie's been wanting IHOP, so okay, we went to IHOP. I had the Chicken Florentine Crepe, which was YUM (but I'm sure had 6,000 calories), and a couple bites of Guthrie's pancake. Thoroughly enjoyed the dinner, then stopped by a pet store, where both boys fell in love with a Pomeranian puppy, which we cannot get because I'm allergic.
And then the dinner confirmed a suspicion I've had for some time: I'm apparently allergic (or intolerant, whatever difference it makes) to mushrooms. I used to HATE mushrooms - just looking at them made me gag - but now I really, really enjoy them. The last few times I ate them, I had stomach pain. Tonight, I figured I'd try the food to see how it was, but also do a little test to check on the mushrooms. Sure enough, it's all I can do not to curl up in the fetal position clutching my belly. I'm making an appointment for allergy testing tomorrow.
So, I turn 30, gain 5 pounds, injure my neck, smell like an old lady, and end up doubled over in agony from mushrooms.
I think 30 sucks!