arrival

My sister comes home from survival school today. She is a 2nd Lieutenant in the Air Force and as an Intelligence Officer is required to attend a 17 day survival school in the mountains of Washington state.

She called home at midnight on Tuesday immediately after coming out of the "mock" POW camp. She was captured for 36 hours and endured treatment I can't even allow myself to imagine. She was crying when she called and said that EVERYTHING from the tips of her toes to the top of her head hurt. We talked for a only short while. She was dehydrated, suffering from sleep deprivation, probably dealing with some level of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome and unable to fully convey what she had just experienced.

We hung up and Liv and I had a long, silent hug.

BMI aka "The Spread"

I have been 36 for five days now (ouch). In the past month I have completed a triathalon, swum in the Outgames, done 300 crunches and contemplated getting back into yoga.

Still I have that jiggle in my middle, or the bagel, as Liv calls it.

Today I went for body fat assessment, otherwise known as check for my Body Mass Index. It was the classic skinfold test.

It only took 3 minutes for the trainer to tell me my magic number...30. My BMI is 30, that is, 30% of my body mass is fat.

I am within a healthy range for my age, there is no question about that. I am not fat by any means and that's not what I am trying to say here.

I am, however, feeling like I am starting to suffer from the (dare I say?) middle-aged spread. UGH. The 5 extra pounds I am carrying around look different on me than they would have 10 years ago. I fear I am getting the dreaded "saddle bags."

My resting heart-rate is 55 BPM. I am really healthy, but I eat too many cookies and it has become crystal clear in the last 12 months that in order to trim the fat, I have to say no to the cookies (at least more often than not).

Aging bites....

Rubbing elbows.

Yep, that's me with Martina! Speaking of elbows...and forearms and biceps, she's got some big guns. It's no wonder she's the best tennis player of all time.

It's official

Last week, it became official. In an article for Outlook News I was part of a pair of people labeled "hipsters." My jetgirl partner and I were referred to as "couple hipsters." Seems there should have been an 'of' in that sentence, but nonetheless we are now officially hip.
Can't beat that, right? Especially on the cusp of turning a frightful 36.
At this stage of the game, I'll take my cool points wherever I can.