Now I’m Too Old to Run?

Young people of the Internet: I am the voice of the future. Heed my warning. Do everything in your power to stop aging.

Aging is not good for you. It’s really not. Your metabolism will desert you (10 years ago, I was a size 4. Today…well. I’m not a size 4.) You’ll have to go to the restroom before you get in the car. That’s every time you get in the car. Don’t test that one even once. You’ll fall asleep on the couch before 10 p.m. every night. Well before 10 p.m. Eating blue cheese will give you heartburn.

The latest symptom in my downward spiral into decrepitude (that’s a word, right?) occurred Monday morning. I got up at 5:40 (one of the perks of going to bed before the sun has disappeared is that you wake up before the sun rises) to go for a run. I coated my entire body in a layer of Body Glide, got dressed and went downstairs for a little stretching/petting Petunia while she eats session (oh, another thing: with age, you have to stretch before AND after exercise to avoid injury. It’s exhausting and time consuming.)

I left the house, synched up my watch and put my iPod onto “blaring” (did I mention that you’re hearing slowly disappears as you get older? Just a tiny bit at first. You’ll notice yourself saying “huh?” and “what?” a lot. That’s how you’ll know.)

I went literally 10 steps and about died. I had a sharp stabbing pain in my back on the left side, kinda close to my spine. It basically felt like my liver was trying to escape my body. I hit pause on the iPod and did a few upper body stretches. When it felt like I could breathe without doubling over, I tried to run a few more steps. Nope. Excrutiating, radiating pain. I turned back the 20 paces and went back inside the house.

This stock image is so freaking disturbing. How do I know I DON’T have some face on my back?

During this whole escapade, one of my neighbors had pulled up, gotten out of his car, witnessed my entire “run,” and walked to his front door, shaking his head as if to say, “Yep, another one down.”

I hobbled through my morning routine. I was just in so much pain. I even considered going to the doctor, something I never do since my physician has the bedside manner of Frankenstein. My own personal WebMD XFE told me that it was probably just a spasm and I’d be fine.

 

Let me reiterate: I did nothing NOTHING at all that would have caused any kind of muscle spasm or contraction of any sort. Unless you count bending over and petting a cat or pushing a button on an iPod as strenuous activity, I had not done any moves that would cause that kind of blinding, breath-stealing pain. This is purely a case of Random Age Pain. It’s similar to Restless Leg Syndrome, I suspect. Or even, heartburn.

Now I’m on a steady diet of ibuprofen and glum, pitiful looks, accentuated by sharp intakes of breath whenever I move wrong. I had a heating pad on it all morning, but a quick Google search indicated that I had gotten even that course of treatment wrong. You’re supposed to use ice packs, apparently, not heat. Which really bums me out because I hate to be cold.

We have less than four days until vacation and I was really hoping to get my old and slowly-rotting, ancient body in shape for bikini wearing. Because by my calculation, four days totally would have been all it would take to turn back the hands of time and get into a size 4.

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Some See Assault, I See Incredibly High Standards on Celebrity Minutae

Sure, this is an entirely appropriate response to a situation that doesn’t need to exist.

Ronald Deaver, 31, of Parma, was arrested and charged with felonious assault for allegedly stabbing a 48-year-old Garfield Heights man following an argument.

Det. Compton says the fight began because the victim did not know that singer Beyonce‘s husband is rapper Jay-Z.

Everyone knows we were married on April 4, 2008. It's practically a holiday.

I really don’t see the problem here. I myself have been known to trip people (to the ground!) who did not know the names of all of Brad and Angelina’s offspring.

And I once cut my eyes at someone who mistakenly thought that Jennifer Lopez was dating Bradley Cooper (they were just having dinner together people! Doesn’t mean they’re dating!)

And don’t even let me tell you what I would do to someone who would dare to suggest that Kim Kardashian’s bootie was fake. (I’ll give you a hint: it would involve standing in their personal space and waving my arms near their head while declaring, “I’m not touching you. I’m not touching you. I’m not. I’m not touching you.” Get my drift? While not deadly, that is very, very annoying. That would certainly teach that person a lesson.)

So just do yourself a favor and get yourself a subscription to US Weekly, Star, OK, Life and Style, and InTouch. We cannot have people going around thinking the King and Queen of Hip Hop are just shacking up and having babies out of wedlock and whatnot.

Educate yourself before you get shot. That’s my motto.

"Baby, that girl over there behind the US Weekly is giving me some scary eyes."