I fall to pieces...

I hate that new Gatorade commercial. You know the one – various people participating in various athletic endeavors until suddenly, presumably because they have a lack of Gatorade in their bodies, they crumble. It is just an unpleasant image to me. Perhaps because I am starting to feel like I am crumbling myself.

I know it is part of the natural aging process. Parts wear out, just like my car or the VCR or the washing machine. I guess I didn’t prepare myself for it, or perhaps it is the mounting list of things that no longer work properly that has me somewhat overwhelmed. I would say it started after 30, but that is not entirely true.

In college, my foot started hurting. The quack at the infirmary suspected a stress fracture, but x-rays showed only an old healed fracture. Seems that nasty spill on the bunny slope the first and only time I went skiing caused more than a sprained ankle. And now I had my first arthritis site. Isn’t that special? I hate snow.

But the list does grow more impressive as I fly quickly out of my thirties. My eyes have dried up; I suppose this is the first step in becoming old and dried out. My skin is drying out, too. I could single-handedly keep the lotion industry in business.

My shoulder, tired of working for so many years at low wages and no benefits, went on strike. It required the mediation skills of physical therapist to get it back to work, but it is a lazier less flexible shoulder. But at least I can lift my arm high enough to shave my pits again.

And don’t tell me a really funny joke if I have to use the restroom. I won’t elaborate on that one any more – just let your imagination run wild.

I suppose healthier food, more rest, and regular exercise would serve as the extended warranty on my body parts. Alas, it is probably too late for that. So I am thankful for all the parts that still work in somewhat the same way they are supposed to, and praise the defective ones when they try really hard. But as long as I can keep the pits clear, it can’t be all bad.