I don't mind getting older. There's a certain clarity that comes from walking this sod for 5 decades, and you just learn to not sweat the small stuff. If I'm honest with myself, though, I'll admit to having one annoyance. I miss the lack of aches and pains.
I actually didn't. I just dusted myself off and got into position for the next serve. It didn't register at the time, but most of my team were almost the age I am now. These days, I can better understand the question. I actually wince as I think back on some of those dives onto the court floor.
A few years later, I was commuting home on a train. Getting off an escalator at the station, I slipped and fell but managed to reach out and break my fall, saving myself from doing a full faceplant. After making sure I didn't drop anything, I rushed off to my next train.
Onboard, sitting in my seat and taking in the winter scenery out the window, I noticed a persistent throbbing in my right hand, the one I'd used to catch myself at the station. I held it up expecting to see a bruise or cut. I wasn't expecting my little finger's middle joint to be pointing 45° away from the rest of my hand. I actually laughed at the absurdity of the scene.
Andrea met me at the station and we went to an urgent care clinic. Getting impatient with the wait to be taken back, I wound up popping my finger back into place. When I was finally in x-ray, I explained to the resident what I'd done. His look translated to "Daaayyyuuumm" as he shook his head.
Sometime in the intervening years, either my pain threshold dropped, or the cumulative effect of a lifetime of getting knocked around was catching up to me.
More recently, I was helping some of our guys rearrange our equipment storage closet. I nudged one of the larger boxes to be moved to gauge its weight. It didn't budge, telling me it was pretty hefty. My 50-year-old brain tried to warn me. "Looka here, my man. There's no shame in asking for help or getting a dolly." However, my 50-year-old back was having delusions of still being a 20-year-old.
"Pfft. Don't bother with all that. You've got this. It'll be fine." So I hoisted the box like a sack of potatoes and moved it 10 yards to its new location.
My 50-year-old back is a dumbass.
After a visit to the doctor and some pain meds, I can confidently say I give back pain 0/5 stars - would definitely not recommend.
These days, when I drop something on the ground, there's a mental calculus that takes place as I stare at the object. "Hmph. Do you really need that? What would happen if you just left it there?"
In order to stave off being crowned "The King of Pain", I'm looking at options including Tai Chi. I figured if a bunch of geriatric Asians could handle the regimen and retain flexibility, I should as well. That may be another post.
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