Reality check.

Are women allowed to have a midlife crisis? I've been wondering that a lot this last year. I suffered through a 20-year, high-school reunion in October. It wasn't that bad as it turned out, I guess. There were plenty of gals and guys who aged a lot less gracefully than myself. But then there were those Barbie dolls who are even more of a Barbie than 20 years ago who make you feel really inferior and, well, old. I swear that one of my gal pals from back then is even more attractive than she was before. And not only does she look like a marathon athlete, tanned, blonde and gorgeous - she IS a marathoner. As well as a successful doctor. With three beautiful children, including a set of twins - boy and girl. Ugh. If I didn't like her so much, I would have thrown up on her right then and there. But worse than feeling uptight about my own aging, I felt more than a little anxiety for the boys who had turned into men (not the BOYS we said goodbye to in '86) by shooting up a couple more inches, growing shoulders and filling out in a few more places than just the pecs. There were more than a few beer-belly paunches and bald heads. I recognized ALL the girls, but there were several guys I would not have recognized if I'd literally bumped into them at the mall in their old letter jackets. At least it was reassuring to know that my peers had aged right along with me.

I now have a daughter in middle school who decided to go out for volleyball this year. Of course, I had to prove my old state volleyball team status by "helping her practice." Oh, yeah. I was the clutch server and backrow digger back in 86. If the coach wanted to target weak defense on the opposite side of the net, I was recruited to expertly smash her face in with a strategically placed, lethal overhand serve. We had a few all-state players on my team, and we competed for the state title my senior year (see the pic - guess which is me). It's not just men who think they are invincible and still have the athlete's ego they did in their glory days. For weeks, I was out in the sideyard volleyball "court" my husband set up for our daughter to practice, serving to her for hours at a time. I can only remember being really sore one day the first week. But I STILL HAD IT! And I was getting a lot of joy in showing my girl that ol' mom was better than her at something since all teenagers think their parents are the biggest idiots that ever walked the planet. Well, later that month, I reached behind my back to hand my youngest son some silly little thing he thought he needed in the car. And WHAM, BAM%$#*&$%!!! My third-decade glory days were over. Something popped, pulled and sent a sharp stabbing pain from my shoulder clear down my arm. I literally doubled over in pain. It was a good thing I wasn't actually driving or we would have been bouncing off the curb or in a ditch off the interstate. Well, here it is 6 months later and I'm still in physical therapy. I have tendonitis and "frozen shoulder," meaning I have really limited range of motion in that arm - and can't even reach behind me to hook a bra strap, let alone overhand serve a volleyball.

On top of all this, I have to wear "granny" magnifying glasses about 50 percent of the time at the agency, where I do a lot of proofing and copy editing. My new physical therapist just happens to have turned 40 this year herself. I told her that I just don't understand why I shouldn't be able to do the same stunts I did 20 - now 21 - years ago. How did this happen? She wondered the same thing when she did an overhand stroke in the pool last summer and felt that same pop and pull. Well, at least I'm not in that pool by myself. And don't think I'll be running out to buy myself a little red Corvette to prove that I've still got it either. It's obvious I've already lost it. Because that's the other thing that's getting a little rusty - my memory.