Doorman Diaries

No trading this body in for newer model

Along with “Dancing with the Stars” (Bristol Palin … really?), getting old is definitely overrated.
Fumbling towards my 36th year has led me to accept that we, as humans, are indeed not manufactured to last much longer than age 50 or so. My body, though not a pristine chapel of cardiocrunchhealthiness, has always served me well in sports and life in general.
The change happened quite rapidly after the age of 30 or so. Seemingly simple tasks such as getting out of bed, or walking down my driveway, have become Homeric quests worthy of gilded tomes and brilliant medals adorned on my chest.
Just this morning, feeling no immediate pain in my lower joints, I hopped out of bed with a sprightly flip of my comforter, eager to face the day and focused on accomplishing the tasks at hand, only to have my knee fold underneath me and crash face-first into my bedroom door, with my daughter looking on in pity/shame.
Dignity, wherefore art thou?
It seems my body has hit that magic number that cars do when their mileage has just rolled past the five-year/50,000-mile plateau. Now I’m stuck with this clunker, and have to keep a weekly dialogue going with my body mechanic.
Lately it feels less 1968 Camaro Super Sport, and more rusty orange 1978 Pinto. Minus of course the penchant for a fiery explosive death. Unless you include when I’ve accidentally ingested a jalapeno. I digress.
Though my eyesight isn’t bad, recently I thought I’d get an eye exam and check on the possibility of a LASIK upgrade. Why not, right? Who doesn’t want bionic eagle eyes?
Apparently every senior citizen in San Diego also had the same idea. I was the youngest person at the opthamologist by about 127 years. I was just hoping to sharpen my eyesight a bit, not hoping for a collective optical miracle.
Then again, aging in any sense gives you a bit of perspective.
I guess feeling pain and living life shows that you’ve actually experienced a few things while bumbling your way around this orbiting muddy rock. And who wants to make it out of here without a scar or a cool story about massive bodily damage? You, Wimpy? How about you Bubbleboy? That’s what I thought.
Live long-ish and hurt yourself.