Knee Slappers

I distinctly remember a thought process I had as a child that has recently become relevant. One day I was people-watching with my grandfather (a favorite pastime of mine) and I saw a much older man having a very difficult time getting around. I remember thinking how irresponsible it was that someone would let themselves get into such poor shape. In little John-John's world, everything in life could be controlled. Our success, our failures, our health, our state of mind, were all practically something we decided for ourselves. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss. I was entirely oblivious to the association of age and physical ineptitude. But even as I grew into my teens I struggled with the concept of aging. I only got faster over time. My reflexes and dexterity improved and, honestly, it all seemed to come naturally (as it tends to do with all teenage boys who associate youth with invisibility).

But it wasn't until at least a decade later that I started to realize even my body has its limits. Between the weekend hikes, the weekday walks, the daily gym sessions and the Tuesday soccer games, I've known to some small degree how it felt for that old man of my past.

Last Tuesday we had our third soccer match, and after two losses I was certainly hoping our luck might change. It didn't begin well when we started with only five players on the field. But, in the end, our division-6 team of mostly guys who 'used to play' managed a 2-0 win. And victory was only sweetened by my scoring of the final goal. A breakaway in the last two minutes left me and the opposing team's goalkeeper in a one-on-one situation, to which he attempted to get into my head with some encouraging words - "well mate, give it your best" - right before I rattled the hell out of the ball into the back of the net.

But, as they also say, some things are bitter sweet. In the split second before I was able to shoot the ball, one of the defenders gave me a quick ankle-tap, causing me to nearly trip and almost stealing from me a minuscule moment of sport-induced glory.

As a young teen, ankle taps were a regular part of the games I played and never once did they cause any sort of injury. Even at 24, however, apparently the body is more prone to injuries from the slightest irregular movement. The goal has since caused me a week-long limp that appears to be improving at a surprisingly slow rate.

I guess what I gather from all this - and to make sure to clarify that I'm NOT looking for pity points (but if you want to send me sweet e-mails of concern I'm sure it'll dull the pain) - is that our bodies, I think, come with some sort of built-in pre-geriatric mechanism that not-so-subtly warns us to SLOW DOWN. That we're not as invincible as we thought we once were. I'm not suggesting by any means that regular exercise and athletics should be discouraged (especially not in our mid 20s for cryin' out loud), just that it appears our bodies don't just begin to give out once we hit nifty 50. I'm sure all you oldies out there reading this have no sympathy for me whatsoever, but you could have at least given a man a fair warning.

I wouldn't call this much of an update, so I apologize if you came looking for another installment of New Zealand adventures. But at the moment I'm too focused on the countless muscles that I didnt even know existed throbbing throughout my body.

Reality checked,
John