When I'm 64

So I had a birthday this week! And now I'm 64, which sounds so old. But all of the 60s sound old, and then there are the 70s and the 80s and... 

It was a fine birthday, no issues like I used to have, and it occurred to me that perhaps when one gets older, birthdays seem a little more special -- because you know you don't have that many left. Of course I hope to have many more, but my mother only lived to be 85. Do I have 21 birthdays left? And of the remaining birthdays, how many of them will I spend compos mentis? 

This was a pleasant week overall, mainly because it wasn't hot. I feel so bad for the western part of the country! The whole Pacific Time Zone seems to be in a nightmare heat wave that won't quit. And for some reason, Colorado has been very cool. I think yesterday's high was 90, a little blip, but today we're only supposed to get to 73. This coming week we're finally going to heat up again -- they're predicting 97 for Friday and Saturday. So that'll be more normal for July. But it was nice to get this little reprieve.

Of course, Thursday was 4th of July. A strange holiday this year, with all the worries about the political situation. Sometimes I start thinking about the whole Biden-Trump debate debacle and I get frantic. Why won't Biden step down, who will step up if he does, how can we survive another Trump presidency, why doesn't Trump just drop dead, what if Biden drops dead instead, what is wrong with more than half the country thinking it would be a good idea to vote for Trump, how on earth could the Supreme Court say Trump (and any future president) has immunity for acts committed while President, why don't Alito and Thomas and Gorsuch drop dead, what if Sotomayor drops dead instead, and so on and so forth.

And then I think -- you are not in charge of this, so back down. Pay attention, but don't get so upset because there's nothing you can do about it right now. 

But still, it did affect my feelings about the 4th. We didn't do anything at all -- I even forgot to put my little flags in the window boxes until the next day. For dinner we had hot dogs and potato salad and fruit salad, and around 9 pm Teen B and I walked up the hill to watch fireworks. Except that there weren't any. Silly me didn't check to see if Boulder was having fireworks until we got up the hill, the dark, lonely hill with nobody else around. We could see other towns' fireworks way off in the distance, plus the occasional illegal ones in town, but after a while we just walked back home. So that was the 4th. On to the 5th.

I got the idea that it would be fun to have afternoon tea on my birthday -- not a big meal, just little treats to eat as many or as few as I liked. But then I thought about going out for tea with the twins, and my interest flagged. However, I had told Rocket Boy I was considering doing this, and he got busy and made us a reservation at the Huckleberry. So we went out for tea on my birthday.

The twins were very unhappy about this plan and complained pretty much nonstop before we went (and on the way, and while it was happening). This could have made me mad: it's my birthday! why can't you be nice about it! But it didn't make me mad, because it was just so obvious that they were nervous about going. They didn't know what it would be like, it sounded potentially "zesty" -- their current word for anything out of their comfort zone -- and, being teenagers, they would prefer to just stay home. 

But we went. I drove us to Louisville, found street parking right across from the restaurant (the Friday after 4th of July is a nice quiet day), and we went in. The restaurant was fairly quiet -- our reservation was for 2:30 and they close at 3:00 -- and we were taken to a room with only one other table occupied. We decided on Boulder Breakfast Blend tea for me and Teen B, while Teen A had a Sprite. And then they brought the tower of treats. It wasn't as impressive as I remember from other times I've gone out to tea, but the twins had nothing to compare it with, so I think they liked it. We ate everything except one "artichoke purse," and I managed to get the twins to eat some of my share, so I wasn't too full and didn't have to pay (gastrointestinally) later.

And after we got home I went out again and bought myself some more flowers to plant and a chocolate cake, because what's a birthday without a cake? But here it is two days later and I haven't had any of it. (Note: it's now 2:30 pm and I finally just had a piece. Verdict: meh.)

That damn drug!

Actually, I'm feeling more charitable toward Mounjaro this week, because I did lose some weight.

June 9, 2024: 258.8 lbs.            June 9, 2023: 250.6

June 16, 2024: 255.2 lbs.

June 23, 2024: 252.4 lbs.

June 30, 2024: 252.2 lbs.

July 7, 2024: 248.2 lbs.            July 7, 2023: 251.6

So, we've been back from our trip for a month and I'm down 10 pounds. Some of it is due to Mounjaro, some to all the walking I've been doing, some to whatever. The point is, I'm down 10 pounds. 

Of course, those are the 10 pounds I gained this past winter after I started wearing bands on my braces (which triggered a months-long binge-eating disaster). So it doesn't feel like I really lost weight -- it feels like I just got back to where I was. As you can see above, I weigh almost the same as I did a year ago. But that's OK. "Where I was" is a better place than where I've been more recently. If that makes sense.

Oh, but this drug, this drug. I do not like it! Between the nausea and the stomach cramps and the watery diarrhea and the fatigue and the insomnia and the lack of interest in doing anything... it's just not a fun drug. My refrigerator is crammed full of leftovers, none of which I have any interest in eating, and none of which I have the motivation to throw away. Actually, that's not true. Once in a while I toss leftovers into the compost bin, but honestly, I probably should do that straight from the dining room table -- there's no need for them to sit in the fridge for a week. For the most part the kids don't want to eat them. Sometimes I can get a second meal out of them, sometimes not.

If I weren't losing weight, I'd dump the drug. But I am losing weight... and that's so seductive.

***

Yesterday, the day after my birthday, Teen B and I took our second hike for his PE course, since there are only two and a half weeks left in the course and next week we have to do our second 5K. We went up to Betasso Preserve, which is off Sugarloaf, and hiked the Canyon Loop trail. I hadn't been there in years -- I think I went there once with the bird club, so that's pre-twins. Betasso is popular with mountain bikers, but the trails are closed to bikes on Saturdays and Wednesdays. That's why we needed to go yesterday. The Canyon Loop trail is supposedly 3.3 miles long, but we added some distance because of where we parked and ended up walking 3.92 miles.

It took us over 2 hours.

My copy of Boulder Hiking Trails rates the trail as "Easy to Moderate," but the Boulder County website rates it as "Moderate/Difficult." I think "Moderate" is probably the right rating. It's a really nice trail, and if I weighed 50-100 pounds less, was 34 rather than 64, and wasn't taking Mounjaro, I probably would have thought yesterday was a wonderful hike. We hiked in the late afternoon, got there a little after 3pm, so the morning crowds were gone. The weather was perfect -- warm but not hot, wind that varied from gusty to a gentle breeze, sunshine... Seriously, weather-wise, it was one of the best hikes I've ever taken In My Life. And the trail was dry, not muddy, and there were wildflowers. Didn't see any Abert's squirrels (which Betasso is known for), but then, I was mostly looking at my feet.

We were actually OK for about the first, oh, 2.5 miles, I'd say. And then we passed the midpoint of the loop, where we really couldn't turn back anymore, we had to go forward.

And then I started to get tired. And hungry. So, I'd taken my shot of Mounjaro the night before, which meant I had no business being on a HIKE that day, too tired and sick. But Saturday was one of the days the trails were closed to bikes and I didn't want to wait until Wednesday (the next closed-to-bikes day) because Wednesday is the last day of the week for Teen B's class and that would be cutting it close. Plus, it's going to start getting hotter. No, Saturday was the day to do it, so I thought -- who cares about Mounjaro? I'm tough -- I can do this. Ha ha. I should never think that. I'd had a normal breakfast that morning, but I couldn't get myself to eat lunch. I finally had a banana and a stale muffin before we left, but no protein except a glass of milk. I brought plenty of water, but I didn't bring any food, and it turned out that I needed food. Specifically, I needed sugar.

Note to self: buy a bag of hard candy and stash it in the car, my backpack, my purse -- wherever I might suddenly need a pick-me-up. I looked through my backpack carefully, but there was absolutely nothing in there. I'd cleaned it out at some point. 

I actually thought about asking the few people we saw on the trail if they had any sugar. But nobody looked like they did (solo male joggers, etc.) and I was too embarrassed to ask anyway. It got harder and harder to lift up my feet, especially when the trail went uphill. I felt nauseated and as though I were going to have diarrhea. My stomach was cramping. I kept looking at my phone -- I was tracking our hike using the MapMyWalk app, of course -- and I could see how much of the trail we had left. We'd already gone 3 miles... 3.2... 3.6... how long IS this trail, anyway?

There were no mosquitos on this trail, but there were little black flies. Earlier, the flies landed on my arm and I couldn't feel them. (Teen B kept saying: "Mom, there are flies on your arm!") But toward the end, the flies (they may have been a different kind) went for my ankles and bit me -- it hurt! So I had to use some energy to kick them off.

I wanted to lie down on the trail, but I was afraid I wouldn't have the energy to stand up again. As we approached the end, finally, I saw a bench where people could sit and admire the view. I practically ran to it, and Teen B and I sat for a while while I panted and retched. Then we continued on. "You go ahead," I told him. I gave him the car keys. He walked off and I staggered on until I spotted a picnic table. I hurried over to it, sat down, and put my head on the table. Pant, pant, pant. The flies bit me. I kicked them away. 

I texted Teen B: "Could you bring the car down closer to the trailhead?" (We'd parked a little ways away from it, not realizing where it was.) He called me: "Mom, I don't want to drive." Granted, it was illegal for him to drive, with no permit (I had it with me) and no me in the car with him. Still, I begged him. Still, he didn't want to do it. "OK," I said. "I'll be there soon." I got up, tried again to walk.

I've been on some killer hikes before. I kept thinking about that. How does this compare to Half Dome, for instance. There was that time when Rocket Boy and I got stuck coming down the Half Dome trail in the middle of the night with a young girl we met, Kim, who had all the wrong footwear and terrible blisters. Is this worse than that? I asked myself. The Half Dome hike is like 16 miles round trip! This is only four miles! You can walk four miles. And what about that time Rocket Boy and I tried to find the crater near Salida and got lost and hiked for miles and miles, hour after hour. This is nothing like that! You know exactly where you are, and the car is less than a quarter of a mile away.

But I was younger then, and thinner. And I wasn't taking bloody Mounjaro.

Anyway, I made it to the car, finally. Teen B was sitting in the front seat with the engine on and the air conditioning blasting. "It's nice and cool, Mom," he encouraged me. He had brought a Luigi ice with him, intentionally letting it melt while we did the hike so that he could drink it afterwards (so gross). By the time I reached him, he'd already drunk it. I said, pathetically, "Could I lick the container?" "It's already in the trash," he told me. I decided not to ask if I could get it out of the trash, thinking that would upset him. I'd definitely upset him enough already. 

I had thought there were some little packets of crackers in the car -- but there weren't. But Teen B, bless his heart, found a cough drop, a Ricola. Those have sugar! I took it from him gratefully and sucked it. As soon as the sweetness touched my tongue, I started to recover. And after a bit I managed to drive us down the mountain and home. When we got home, I poured myself a cup of cold tea with about half a cup of milk, drank that, drank some water, and lay down and took a nap. It was strange, but I actually didn't want any food that night. The kids wanted to go out -- it was Saturday night, after all -- so we ended up ordering takeout from BJ's and I went and got it. I didn't want any of it. I ate the last of Thursday's fruit salad for my dinner, just some nice melon pieces, and drank a glass of milk. And more water.

I texted Rocket Boy a few photos from the hike and told him about what happened. He texted me back: "I wish I could hike; I had cellulitis again and am taking my next set of antibiotics. I had the worst night, not able to think clearly." What!?! I called him right away. I had just talked to him the afternoon before, after we went out to tea -- how did he get cellulitis that quickly? But it does come on fast. I told him, you have to come home. But he wants to keep this job until he has his student loans paid off, which should be in three more months. So maybe he'll be here in October. And maybe someday we'll do the hike at Betasso together (Teen B, I'm sure, will never do it again).

***

And I'm OK today. Didn't sleep very well -- thank you again, Mounjaro -- but I've already had a nap this afternoon and I may take another. I'm having an allergy attack for some reason, maybe something we walked through on the hike. But I don't have any itching places (those fly bites apparently don't do anything), and no injuries. I'm a little stiff, but not too bad. So on we go.

I paid Teen B $10 for that hike (his request). I wasn't going to -- after all, we did it for his class, for his grade. He should pay me! But by the end I realized that I'd really put him through a lot. I think he was scared and didn't know what to do. So $10 is a small token of apology.

Well, that was our last hike for the class. This coming week we'll have to do that 5K, but we can do it close to home, someplace boring.

Once again, no harm done, a minor disaster averted. And now I'm 64.