“Well, it’s going to take a lot longer for you to heal,” the man intoned with the gravitas of great wisdom.
Uh-huh.
“The older you are, the longer it takes,” he added, pointing at my right shoulder, which had just undergone extensive surgery.
Uh, yep. If you say so.
As we walked through the garden store, he was bent over a bit. He’d broken his back a few years back. So had I, in eight places. I was 64 when I did it. He was a lot younger. In his forties, in fact.
He was still crippled. Could barely lean over.
I can lean over and touch my face to my knees with my legs straight. I learned to do that while healing my own broken back last August.
This is not about being superior or judgmental or “lookitme.” It is, however, about choices. This man didn’t exercise before his accident. I did. Including yoga six days a week, which means when I take a tumble (and I often do, spectacularly) I fall like a microwaved Gumby doll. I’ve been bodyslammed by horses and rocks and kayaks and anything with a nasty edge. I put myself in the way of hurt a lot because it’s fun and what I do…