I turn 30 in two weeks. And no, that is not an attempt to garner a bunch of Happy Birthday wishes (I really hate when people do that). You just need to know that I’m about to turn 30 for the rest of this post to make sense. As much as the ramblings of a hypochondriac with a well-documented history of anxiety can make sense.
I was doing OK with the turning-30 thing until I was applying fake tan a few weeks ago and noticed some weird lines on my calf. At first I thought it was a faint bruise, but upon further inspection it appears that I now have the beginnings of spider veins on one of my calves. SPIDER VEINS. AT 29 YEARS OLD. I was under the impression that I had AT LEAST another 20 years before having to worry about this shit. At this point, I may as well start entering rooms thusly:
After the Fake Tan Incident, I spent about 20 minutes scrutinizing every inch of my body for more of them (of course there are more of them). I then Googled “how to prevent spider veins,” which on a scale of “1” to “Dumbest Idea Ever” is a solid “Let’s Make Another Transformers Movie.”
Here are some of the really helpful things I learned from what may be the most depressing Google search in my history of Google searches, and this is coming from a person who once Googled, “Meat pieces are clogging nozzle on Bacon and Cheddar Easy Cheese”:
– Don’t stand too much.
– But also, don’t sit too much.
– Don’t be overweight.
– Exercise regularly.
– But even if you aren’t overweight and do exercise regularly, you’re probably still fucked because it’s mostly hereditary.
– Don’t cross your legs.
– Get up and take a walk every 10 minutes.
So yesterday I’m explaining to my coworkers about how from now on I’ll be spending 80 minutes of my workday taking walk breaks because I might be getting The Spider Veins, and they decide it’s a good idea to tell me about somebody they know who went through menopause at 32 because “she doesn’t have kids and it starts earlier when you don’t have kids.”
Anyway, I know it’s dumb to stress about something totally out of your control, especially when that something really has no bearing on your health or how you live your life. (And, if I’m being honest, you can’t even really see my dumb veins unless your eyes are right up on my calf.) Instead of inspecting my legs every day to see if they’re getting worse, I’m making an effort to dial back the crazy, be thankful for the fact that I can lift weights and run half marathons on my spinster legs, and enjoy the shit out of my 30s.
I may also look into Zoloft.