The 40’s

Don’t you just hate those people who have an answer for everything? You know, the people who always respond with a similar story or a story that “one-ups” the previous one?   After a few retorts, you are left wondering how you got into this hour-long conversation. Imagine my disappointment when I realized that I morphed into one of “those people”.  Yep, I saw a twitter post where a man mentioned that his back hurt at 30, and he didn’t know why.  Heh, I replied, “Wait until you get 40.”

It was so easy to get sucked into this “one-up” situation, though.  It was like the Death Star tractor beam grip cheesecake puts on me, luring me to an unhappy date with my scale.  Sure, I can pretend my body’s engines are at full power trying to escape, but I know I’m doomed, just like the Millennium Falcon was when the Death Star tractor beam captured Han Solo and crew.

However, I am not sorry. No, I feel justified, because 30 is nothing, folks. Seriously, I *wish* I could go back to 30.  Heck, 30 is prime time, baby.   Trust me when I tell you mid 40’s is far worse than 30.  At 30, things may not work exactly like they did in the 20’s, but things are still functioning properly.  There is no need to worry that the explosion going on inside the chest while running a mile is anything other than hard work.  At 40, this same explosion could mean the end is on its way.

Am I overstating the difference? Nope.  Allow me to explain how far my body has fallen.

As a lover of all things NFL, I am drawn to the NFL draft.  Part of the NFL draft process is to test the prospective players by running them through a myriad of drills in an effort to measure their athleticism. One of these drills is the standing broad jump.  Yes, the exact same standing broad jump from the early school days.

After watching the players perform the jump, it was only natural for me to want to test my jumping ability. (No, this did not seem like a bad idea at the time.) It didn’t take long before my wife took an interest as to why I was clearing a path in the hallway. When I told her that the plan was to measure my broad jump, she cautioned me with, “Make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

Of course, some of you out there reading this blog are cackling, because really, how on earth can anyone get hurt jumping across the floor? I get it. Go ahead and laugh. Heck, I’ll laugh with you laughing at me, because it sounds preposterous.

Well, consider the fact that a year ago my daughter grabbed my hands to play ring-a-round the rosie, and as soon as I twisted after landing from a small jump, my back decided to show me what real pain was like. It took me three months to recover from a little game kids play. It was the most pain I’ve ever felt in my life. Heck, I could barely get out of bed the first week after the injury.

There ya go, Mr. 30-year-old. You may have a sore back that you can’t trace back to a certain event; however, I’ve got a body that might just fly apart at any moment. Take that!

Somewhere out there a 50-year-old person is saying, “What until you get 50.”

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