Achy Breaky Everything

I ache.

Pretty much all over my body.

Getting old sucks. Being out of shape sucks. Being old and out of shape really sucks.

I played tennis with some friends last night, hence my currently sorry state. I suppose getting older is not as bad as forgetting the reality of being older. I did not realize how much more effort is required when one is older. It means those balls you would chase down (and get to) on a regular basis take more effort. It means those knees you relied upon to spring into action are more rusty and creakey than springy. It means the supple wrist you relied upon to make last minute changes need extra support (sports tape) and feel the brunt of no longer being supple.

I realize I am whining and that whining is not attractive. I do not care right now. All I want to do is sit in a hot tub with super-powerful jets and soak my achy breaky body. Then I would like a full-body, therapeutic massage by someone with strong hands. *sigh* That would be awesome. My mouth is now slack and my eyes unfocused as I contemplate fantasy becoming reality. Excuse any spelling or grammatical errors as I drift off into my pain-induced haze.

Great, I'm back. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

I currently have many types of pain. Perhaps I will get some perverse pleasure out of identifying the different types. First, there is the sharp jab that startles you (my shoulder when I move it a certain way). Then there is the slow achy throb that just underlies daily life. There is also the pain in which your muscles are constantly tight (my neck). There is also the shooting pain that starts at one part of the body, but ends up at another, like when my lower back hurts, then shoots down to my butt, leaving a trail of wincing pain in its wake.

I'm walking funny, I'm wincing at odd times and must look somewhat odder than usual shuffling around. Although I looked a lot more awkward last night trying to get out of bed and use the bathroom (drank lots of water to avoid leg cramps). Quasimodo would've looked like Fred Astaire next to me. Not to mention what I must look like walking down stairs (note aforementioned creaky knees). Makes me walk bow-legged in an uneven gait clutching the handrail in case those knees decide to give out.

All right, even I am getting irritated with my whiney self. I could have avoided all this if I did not play tennis and spent the evening on my couch watching Project Runway like I had originally intended. Of course, the other option would be to exercise (at least a little) every day so I would not feel this intensity of pain. Maybe then, I wouldn't lumber to the ball and be huffing and puffing after every point. At one point during the set, I actually said, "lumber, lumber, lumber" aloud as I moved toward the ball. Nothing like creating your own disparaging commentary while on the court.