I hate those moments when life tells you that you aren’t 20 anymore. And life has such a sense of humor.
Let’s say a fourty-ish couple is taking part in a, er, shall we say activity. Birds do it, bees do it. We’ll call it that, I’ve heard it’s considered good exercise. Then one of them (I’m not saying who), wakes up the next morning with such pain, he/she can hardly walk. Must have pulled something. This is depressing enough, but then comes the aftermath.
First comes the calling in sick. You can’t just say “I hurt myself …” and then explain the real nature of the activity. And you can’t really say, “I hurt it playing basketball”, because your boss knows you don’t play basketball. Of course, he probably assumes you’re too old to partake in the activity that caused your injury, as well. So, you try to make up a believable story.
Then comes the trip to the doctor. If you tell the truth (which you should always do with your doctor), then comes the (half-joking) questions of just how vigourous your activity-making is. Then comes the admission that just normal, old-fashioned activity partaking is enough to maim or injure.
And that’s kind of sad.
This is why I’m not so certain that medicines that help men and women of a certain age either with the desire to, or the ability to perform this particular activity are such a good idea. Maybe nature is just trying to prevent pulled hamstrings, popped tendons, slipped discs.
But, IMHO, it’s worth the risk. At least, it’s one
we’re the hypothetical couple is still willing to take.
When one of
us the hypothetical couple heals up, that is.
Update: I just realized that many who read here know us personally. Keep in mind, this is all hypothetical. I’m not talking about us, neccessarily. Just remember that when you see one of us limping, that particular injury is unrelated to this very hypothetical post.