Premature old lady pains
Thirty isn’t supposed to feel so achy, is it?
I guess I’ll blame my responsibilities as a writer and social media marketer/addict, which mean I spend way too much time curled over a computer.
For the past few months, I have been suffering sporadic back pain that leaves me hobbling around stiffly for days at a time.
I suppose I must be one of those people who carry stress in the back, and I must be under more now that I’m a 30-year-old who:
- owns a home
- has a challenging career
- has multiple dogs
- has too many plants
- has a boyfriend
- has more extra-curricular interests than are realistically manageable
But, seriously, I did not expect to start whining so much about back pain so soon after hitting the big 3-0.
Until now, I always thought it was silly for folks to get so worked up about birthdays. It’s just a number. Right? Right?!
At a conservative estimate, Scooby the elderpin clocks in at over 100 in dog years, and I hardly ever hear that dude complain.
Dangle a hunk of chicken jerky over his head and you’ll see that the springs in his legs work just fine.
Meanwhile, I let out an embarrassing moan every time I lean down to scoop his 9.5 pounds off the ground.
This is my lifelong resistance to sports and serious exercise catching up with me.
I am certain my father, who turned 70 five days before I turned 30, never experienced an “I’m falling apart” moment until he was well into his sixth decade.
To be clear, neither one of us is “falling apart.”
While it’s true my dad is having his gall bladder removed today, he is still a He-Man who can wear the heavy uniform of a law enforcement officer daily, lift the sort of heavy objects that laugh at me and do push ups until the bison herd he helps look after comes home.
Lately, it seems like everyone I know is running 5Ks and half-marathons these days — the kinds of races my father ran regularly until his knees started getting mad at him. (At which point he just started spending more time on a bike.)
Although I know it is dumb, it’s hard for me to escape the stupid sense that if I take up running or getting more serious about my fitness now I’m starting too late — like when I tried to learn piano in seventh grade and was subjected to performing in a public recital in which five-year-olds seemed to be tickling Beethoven’s ivories while “Chopsticks” gave me splinters.
But I know these aches and pains are my body telling me something needs to change.
They’re like the growl of a dog whose message you better heed before the situation gets real bad.
Lucky for me, until he is adopted into his forever home, I have an excellent four-legged running partner handy in the form of one fleet-footed Charlie Machete.
As you can see, I also have some pretty cute new running shoes, courtesy of a guy named Zach.
I have a Groupon for beginner yoga classes, too, and a gift certificate for a massage, courtesy of a guy named Zach’s mom.
It’s time to banish Crystal’s premature old lady pains.
Let’s do this! (Readers, you’re gonna have to help keep me honest.)
Can you feel the difference in your body between how old you used to be and how old you are now? What do you do about it?