I don’t understand my body. Am I getting healthier or heading fast into neuromuscular decline? Some days, my joints hurt, especially in spots where large bones connect, like my upper back and hips, but oddly not my knees. My bones grind and grind and grind. Not having large feet and tiny glutes, I worry about balance in the morning. On bad days, I sense the hand tremors that plague my father.
Yet, I still run a half-marathon once a week. I continue my yoga. I do seventy push-ups and sit-ups every day. Last weekend, Ruben’s bathroom scale read a healthy 145 lbs., gratifyingly high for me—let’s hope that’s new muscle. Years ago during marathon training, I slipped to a dangerous128. Now, I might be in the best shape of my life.
In the face of such uncertainty, I continue to do the right things: cook all my own food, almost no drinking, constant exercise. If I have a choice, I do prefer to lose my physical abilities before my cognitive skills. I guess if I’m doomed to be a withered middle-aged man, let’s protract that decline. Are these the normal signs that most fifty year olds share or something disastrous? Regardless, I still remain an inveterate hypochondriac.