I've had a long life with plenty of stupidity, like riding bareback and falling off horses a lot. Usually without a helmet. (Jenna, I didn't write that.) Like bike riding up trees and flipping over. Like getting checked into the boards at a hockey rink by my big brother. Like not taking good care of myself nutritionally, like smoking way back when, like generally not doing as well as I could have with my health--that's what I'm saying.
But if you asked me, I would always tell you, there are two things I don't get that other people do: backaches and headaches.
Today I can still claim headaches, but my back is HISTORY.
I know exactly when my future changed. We had a little child visiting, a four year old, who borrowed one of my hand-weights, which, admittedly, I rarely use, and she walked around the house with it, depositing it unbeknownst to me on the bathroom floor, where, sometime later after I had showered the child with love and she had departed for the day, my foot FOUND the weight, and I stumbled over it at such an odd angle as not to be believed.
May I remind all of us that sometimes it's better to fall?
Instead I caught myself half way down, wrenching my lower back but saving my kneecap. The next week, my 72-pound eight-year-old child decided to jump into my arms one last time--I say one last time because that was the moment I said: okay my back is now finished.
Is this how it's going to be?
NO WONDER people doctor shop for Vic*o*din prescriptions. Holy shit--this back stuff HURTS. If the good lord inspired some scientist to make a pain-eliminating opiate, well then what's the big fuss? Screw addiction and hand some over, because four ibuprofen ain't cutting it anymore.
Okay sure there are other means to relief. Yes, I know, I need to shed poundage. Yes I know it takes time for the back to heal. But I've also faced the music: whatever I did is not even thinking about going back into place.
My back lower back is my new weak spot. My shoulder was so used to that role. In comparison, it feels great. I've even been throwing a perfect spiral again during pool football.
30-somethings, when you hear 40-somethings tell you that one day after 40--it may be 41 or it may be 47--you wake up and everything hurts, believe them.
Except my head.
Knock on wood. But not too hard. I might hurt my hand.