At Some Point...

I have been thinking about my motivations for exercising.

"I want to be fit and healthy and live for 100 years!" I lie to myself.

No, I mostly want to look good.

In a bikini.

A bikini that I will never buy.

Because I don't wear bikinis.

At some point, I wonder if I will stop caring.

I SHOULD exercise because it makes me feel good (and it does), and will help me get to that 100 year mark.

But when my belly becomes a wrinkly mess, will I just lose my drive?

I hope not.

Wrinkles should be like scars. We should be proud of them.

So, when I am 99, I can look at my fellow oldians, and exclaim with pride, "Look at THIS wrinkle! Beat that depth and width, I dare ya!" And then we can beat each other with our canes and walkers as we fight over lounge chairs and jello cups at the rest home.

Right now wrinkles are just annoying. Like when I am trying to put on eyeliner and the pencil gets caught in my "smile lines" and ruins my attempts at looking younger than I am. Yeah.

It's a losing battle.

Because......we all end up looking like Yoda.