3011214544_1b2caaed10.jpgI was formerly able to heal.

When I’d cut myself, the wound disappeared within a week.  Overtaxed muscle?  Forgotten after a day.  If I drank in excess I sprang back.

Now, if I scratch a mosquito bite, I’ve got a souvenir on my ankle for six to nine months.

I decided to go to a batting cage with some friends.  I ripped like mad.  The next day the torso ached a bit.  The following week I returned, determined to impress the cute twenty-something’s who ran the place.  On one power swing I felt a tinge in my upper arm.   For four months I couldn’t take off a shirt without feeling my shoulder yelp in protest.  Four months!

A friend said that as the body ages, cells divide less frequently, slowing recovery.  I asked a trainer if I could offer some incentive plan to my cells.

“Yeah,” he replied.  “Drink from the fountain of youth.”

So I went out drinking.  And I didn’t feel a thing.

That is, until the next morning, when my body launched a revolt.

When did my body become boss?  Is it going to be “yes, dear” for the home stretch?

And stretching!  Don’t get me started.

Photo by: Patricia H., CC Licensed