Pulling Up My Pants (and Other Dangerous Activities)

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/21/opinion/injury-human-aging.html?searchResultPosition=1

("Adding Insult to Injury")

At my age, basically every movement is fraught with peril.

Yes, like Ms. Paul's friend, a sneeze was the recent culprit in sending me to rehab for my back. 10 days later, seeming to improve, I ended up exactly where I began after trying, and failing, to pull up my pants. Who knew there was such danger lurking around every bend. Literally.

It is not a good sign when you consider your physical therapist among your best friends. No longer is the conversation between us focused merely on getting me better. Now, we also speak of how to improve his short game or what his life is like as a newlywed. While my back remains a persistent problem I think I have helped him lower his handicap by 2 or 3 strokes and given him invaluable tips on the most obvious pitfalls to avoid in marriage.

When I was young, my injuries came with lofty purpose. Like breaking my ankle in a high school soccer game. Ok, this happened right after I sat out the first 6 minutes of the contest because I was sneezing. And yes, this followed the prior season I missed almost entirely because of a small rash on my chin that the school nurse said was impetigo, which could enter my brain if I wasn't careful. So, actually, maybe even then my stories were not much filled with testosterone.

I am both a bad patient and a worse protector of my well being. Never having met an exercise I couldn't avoid. Walking (ok, limping) away from tennis decades ago after continually pulling muscles not sufficiently (translation, at all) tuned beforehand (compounded by losing to the same friend in every damn match year after endless year).

I dream of waking one day without ache or pain, ready to run the bases without medical attention at the ready. Able to make the throw from the shortstop hole without consulting my shoulder surgeon on the possibility of tearing my labrum. Or, more realistically, of getting out of bed in one motion, instead of a series of contemplated small moves. Looking more like a toy ready to be discarded than a person performing a most simple task.

So, yes, Ms Paul, I feel your pain. And it runs from head to toe. Or, more accurately, walks. Slowly and with a bit of trepidation.