When younger, I remember wondering why people in their 30s would complain that things were "different" when injured. I figured, 30 isn't old. Surely they are just talking nonsense, right?
But then 30 comes, and you realize...oh, wait. It IS different. Things are slower to heal. Things that shouldn't hurt for very long, do. And you silently curse this growing old thing.
But then 35 comes and it's, again, a whole 'nuther battle. A little more slow to heal. A little more with the grunts and groans and noises when moving. Even when you're in decent shape and you not so silently anymore curse this growing old thing.
And then 36 1/2 happens and one day you find yourself, say, making a train track on your dining room floor. And when you are done, you want to stand up and admire your handiwork, but a sharp granite corner of a bar to just above your hip stops you. So you, naturally, jerk out from under it, twisting your back, to finish standing. And it gets more and more sore as the day goes on and the next day you are relegated to taking your kid's ugly doll to church as a cushion for your back and the NEXT day you're at your chiropractors, crying, because FOR THE LOVE OF PETER PAUL AND MARY your back does not feel good and SERIOUSLY, it was merely standing up and getting a bump from your bar on your back and holy hannah, holy hannah, holy hannah MAKE IT FEEL BETTER NOW, NOW, NOW!
Or, you know, so I've heard...
(franz ferdinand, take me out)