It’s come… it’s finally come—the time that I can no longer drink coffee past noon or I will inevitably stay up all night, tossing and turning in bed, wondering why I can’t fall asleep. When did I get this old?
My body aging feels cruel. Everything hurts all the time. I remember a friend from a couple of years ago told me that twenty-five was when his body changed completely, and pain became an everyday concept. I was twenty-two at the time, clueless, and just laughed it off—but I understand now.
I am no longer the young, fresh chicken I once was. I used to be so limber, bending down to touch my toes without worrying about pulling a muscle in my back. Now, I’m lucky if I can even reach my toes first thing in the morning. Granted, I’ve had back surgery, so that definitely plays a role.
Ironically, the less I move, the less my body hurts. More movement means more pain, which is so strange to me. Obviously, yes—if you lift weights, you get sore—but I’m talking about the random, everyday pains my body endures.
Anyway, I think after I turn thirty, I’ll transition from more extreme forms of movement to lower-impact ones to help preserve my body.