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My body is slowly getting older. Tales from a 52yr old body



There’s something both humbling and hilarious about the journey from 32 to 52. Back in my 30s, I was a well-oiled machine, bouncing back from a night out or a solid running session or even a marathon with the ease of a superhero. Now, at 52, life is a bit different.


Take sleeping, for instance. I used to think injuries were reserved for activities and sports only. Like acute injuries from sprinting or playing contact sports or chronic injuries from endurance sports. Now I wake up with a crick in my neck and an ache in my back or my TMJ in my jaw simply from sleeping in a slightly odd position. My body has apparently decided that lying down is a contact sport.


Sitting, too, has become an extreme activity. Sit down too long in a comfy chair, and my lower back stages a protest. Slouch on the couch, and my shoulders remind me they exist in the most nagging way. Even life in general has turned into a game of "What Will Hurt Today?" Recovery times are no longer just a good night's sleep and a good breakfast—they are now akin to planning a major operation.


Despite these new quirks, movement has never been more crucial. The irony, however, is that it must be done with the caution of defusing a bomb. Swimming, my old friend, now comes with a side order of golfer’s elbow and a painful shoulder if I overdo it. Cycling, my go-to for a good cardio session and my second favourite sport, leaves my thoracic area and neck feeling like I’ve been in a minor car accident. And running? Well, let's just say my body has developed a rich vocabulary of niggles. Feet, toes, ankles, hips—you name it, they all have something to say.


Yet, in this grand comedy of errors, I’ve found a strange and wonderful truth: the benefits of exercise far outweigh the drawbacks. When I skip my routine, I feel tired and lethargic, as if my body is throwing a tantrum. But when I do exercise, even with the occasional aches and pains, I feel energised and alive. It’s a paradoxical dance—more movement brings more niggles, but it also brings vitality and joy.


Accepting these niggles as part of my life has become a badge of honor. Sure, I might groan a little louder when I stand up or wince slightly when I twist the wrong way, but these are the marks of a life well-lived and actively pursued. The discomfort of not exercising is far more profound and pervasive than the fleeting pains of an active lifestyle.


So, here I am at 52, laughing at my own quirks and embracing each day with a mix of humility and humor. Aging might mean more recovery time and strategic movements, but it also means cherishing the vibrant, dynamic life that comes with staying active. In the grand scheme of things, I’ll take the niggles over lethargy any day. After all, a little laughter and a lot of movement might just be the best medicine for a body that’s seen 52 wonderful years.








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