When you’re a kid, there’s never a thought about sore muscles or joints. You play and run endlessly and effortlessly without any threat of stiffness or pain. Then, one day, you fall and scrape your knee and suddenly know the nasty, burning feeling that surrounds the bloody wound. It’s a warning to exercise caution the next time or the injuries could be worse. Some kids heed this lesson while others throw caution to the wind. A broken bone is the next message. We first experience these growing pains and then there’s growing old!

The only fracture that I ever suffered was while skiing. Actually, I didn’t even get on the slope, slipping on the stairs leading out of our condo and cracking some ribs. It has actually come back to haunt me on several occasions. Skiing is one of the few “dangerous” sports I learned to enjoy despite the risk. It was frustrating and painful to fall time after time but somehow, I endured into my late sixties. I’ve joined the 70+ Ski Club but have yet to buckle in. 

I stayed away from most contact sports growing up. Pain avoidance was my mission.  With this in mind, I shunned motorcycles after a neighbor lost a leg, steered clear of cars, and cowered when on any ladder, feared heights in general. Still, I’ve been spanked, paddled, sucker punched, kicked in the nuts, hit in the head with a golf club, taken a rock between the eyes, survived a sharp stick to the pupil and was surprised by a falling limb that knocked me out cold. Kidney stones were by far the most excruciating affliction that I experienced, if you don’t count the softball liner between the legs. I’ve also had my share of cuts, scrapes, stitches, and strains. Fortunately, I don’t remember the series of rabies shots they gave me in the hospital as a young child after being bit by a dog. Apparently, it’s more than agonizing. I’ve also never had major surgery or been tortured to divulge government secrets.

I lived most of my youth without seat belts, crossed busy streets without a crossing guard, walked through winter blizzards, survived the unsafe playground equipment in grade school, withstood the kick-back of a shotgun that knocked me on my butt, took hallucinogenic drugs, got drunk, experimented with explosives, dodged falling arrows shot stupidly straight up in the air, and tobogganed behind a station wagon on icy roads. Please, kids, don’t try any of these unresponsible things that could easily lead to a painful outcome. 

Growing old may be the most painful thing of all. You begin to feel it in your forties. Aches or pains from arthritis, lack of flexibility, past injuries, and stiff muscles plague every waking hour of the day. Getting out of bed is often a strain, while muscular degeneration and lack of balance begins to take its toll on your body. I’m lucky to still be running in my seventies, but it’s harder and harder to get going and stay motivated as my turtle-like pace continues to slow. Both ankles swell, feet get sore, and bones creak. We went to dinner last night and I watched car after car pull up with elders needing assistance to even get out, let alone navigate the stairs with a death-grip on to the railing. My mom frequently stole a quote from her peers, “Growing old ain’t for Sissies!”

Also see “Feelin’ My Age” Post #923.