You see, I get these emails from “RealAge” these days. I once took one of those “How old is your body in relation to your chronological age?” tests. Supposedly the test has behind it all the expertise and knowledge of Drs. Oz and Roizen. (I think I spelled that properly…) I used to take those little questionnaires and come out with a “real” age of several years younger than I am. Now… I’m a few years older. I have a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with the change in my answers about whether I am happily coupled, gainfully employed or have a reliable income, and the amount of stress in my life, since those are the ONLY things that have changed in the last five years.

Right, so since I took this test and found out I am fading, and fast, I’m now on a mailing list that sends me cheery, helpful, encouraging reminders of that very fact. I must eat certain foods to help slow down this nasty aging process. I must do certain exercises to strengthen my core muscles. (Ok, I’ll admit to that. I have the worst posture in the world which results in giving the appearance that I have 3 chins, and I may be chubby, but I’m not THAT chubby.) And I must walk. Daily. For at least 30 minutes.

So… as I sit here in the morning, gnawing on my grapefruit sweetened with stevia and munching a handful of walnuts, I am actually CONTEMPLATING this concept of walking. Just to walk. Because walking is good for me.

Of course, the recycled showgirl part of me still isn’t convinced, sitting here this morning after staggering into bed last night as the result of an evening of warbling, crooning, and belting out the old familiar tunes whilst being bought lovely drinks by very kind and dear audience members… some of which drinks were made by the NEW bartender who doesn’t realize that one should pour 1 part absinthe to at least 2 parts of cold water thereby turning me into a tunnel-vision afflicted, blathering moron…

Where was I? Oh yes… Sitting here in the face that results from NOT taking off the mascara before collapsing on my pillow, with the tousled hair that might make one think I had FAR more fun overnight than I did (damn it)… I am at war with myself. Responsible/health-conscious Joy and Irresponsible/overindulgent-showgirl Joy. I think…

Yes.

I think Irresponsible/overindulgent-showgirl Joy is going to insist on punishing the Responsible/health-conscious Joy for the affront to comfort and self-indulgence a walk will create by making her take that walk completely un-fixed-up. Tousled hair, bleary leftover face, and all. And since both of these entities are a part of the altogether vain and too self conscious Joy, we’re all going to be appalled.

mmhm.

Only I could possibly find a way to both proudly improve myself and punish myself all at the same time.

Now I must go walk.

As soon as I finish my grapefruit and handful of walnuts.