Killing Me Softly (?)

Aging happens to all of us. Until we're dead, I guess (although even that exception could be debated).

I've been pretty lucky in my life on a variety of fronts, one of which is injuries. I broke my pinky finger in elementary school, and I had a series of turned ankle incidents in late high school and into college, but generally I've been lucky. In spite of my relatively advanced age, I've awoken each morning with few (or no) aches and pains.

That is... until recently.

About a week ago, I noticed that my leg hurt. My calf and part of my thigh and my butt. All up the left side, it hurt when I stood up or walked around. It's been a week, and it's not better.

I plan on going to the doctor if it doesn't clear itself up soon, but it's gotten me to thinking.

Thinking about how I perceived aging. And how it might be much, much worse than I'd anticipated.

While I have, for some time, been able to (intellectually) wrap my mind around some of the psychological impacts of aging (lost opportunities, impending nonexistence, etc.) I always had the physical aspects of aging as something creeping and inhibitory. I envisioned that my mind would be slightly less sharp over time, that I would be more easily winded (and enflabbened) and that I might even have to consider dating women in their mid-thirties.

In other words, I envisioned a rather slow decline. Of course, there's always the I met a quick end, but that sort of death is not something I've spent too much time thinking about (other than cat- and student loan-related issues...)

So... I'd anticipated old age creeping up on me: a descent into infirmity before whatever identifies me as "me" is snuffed out. Or moves on. Or whatever.

I did not think about an alternative: that getting old might be painful. That it might involve me wincing every time I roll over in bed or that it might contain maladies that occur with no warning and simply never go away.

That would suck.

I complained about my singing voice being gone some time back in my blog and it (for whatever it's worth) is pretty much back now. Maybe my back will right itself, or maybe I'll get a pill or a massage or something that will bring me back into non-pain during all my waking (and some sleeping) hours.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

In the mean time, though, it's given me more to think about and makes me think that maybe (JUST maybe) dating women in their mid-thirties might be the least of my problems down the road.