We ended up playing a game of twenty-one. While my dad was dribbling the ball down the half-court, I went in for a steal and swiped at the ball. My hand landed on one side of the ball, while my dad's hand was on the other. To this day he says I drew a foul, but I'll go to my grave saying that my entire hand was on the ball. That move was all it took to dislocate my dad's shoulder.
Ten years later, he was still getting surgeries to repair that shoulder. He was 41 when he got that injury. I'm 37.
Like I said in my last entry, my doctor said that I have calcium deposits in my spine. Right now, they don't hurt unless I'm squatting heavy. My doctor says that in twenty years, it's going to be an issue.
Despite our best intentions to not end up like our parents, sometimes we just can't help but end up that way. I've always had bad knees, like my dad. I've blown each of them out six times. My dad had to quit wrestling in high school because of them.
I also remember that my dad would make various attempts at health and fitness, but being that it was the 1980s and information on health and fitness was sporadic at best, most of his attempts were ham fisted and yielded little results. He bought an old school rowing machine with the metal arms. He used it for a week and then it just sat around. He bought a punching bag, and stopped using it after a week, after which is went away to parts unknown. He took the bag down and I didn't see it again for another twenty years after he had long divorced my mother and moved into a new house. This irritated my brother and I, as we enjoyed punching the bag as well. He even tried Jenny Craig once, which went about as well as anybody who does Jenny Craig.
You can't blame my dad for sucking at fitness. It was the 1980s. It's not like there was a lot of information out there, and even with the information that did exist, the science behind exercise was kind of a shit sandwich compared to now. He did what he could to increase his fitness
I think my dad did all this because he didn't really know how to navigate the world without being strong. Despite working an office job, he liked to intimidate people into getting his way (which is one of many reasons we don't spend much time together nowadays). When his body started falling apart, he started having mental health issues. I don't know much about that, other than family members have said that his medicine cabinet is filled with pills.
My dad has been a giant mess most of his life, and all of mine. I'll spare you the details.
The point is that I'm reaching the age where his body started falling apart, and I'm starting to notice the same happening to mine. I still have calcium deposits on my shoulder that have been there for years, and will probably be there until the day I die. My spine now has issues. My knees have always been pretty fucked.
Getting old is scary.
Don't get me wrong. Despite my gut reminding me that it's time to cut weight, I'm still in great shape. In my MMA classes, I notice that I'm probably the only guy that lifts weights, and isn't intimidated when the instructor "punishes" the class with pushups (why he, the Army, or literally any place on Earth that needs people to be physically strong thinks that threatening people by making them stronger is some sort of punishment is a mystery to me), and I'm hardly winded when class is over. This is despite the fact that many of the students are half my age and sucking lungs at the end.
It still doesn't change the fact that my time is coming. I'm going to be too old for this shit. My body will give out. Sooner rather than later. And that's fucking scary.
The most frightening thing to me throughout my life has been that I would be in a position where I can't defend myself. Where my dad got scared because the loss of his strength meant that he wouldn't be able to intimidate people, I fear being in a position where I'm defenseless.
People are coming to hurt you. No one is going to protect you. You will be punished for defending yourself. Fight anyway. That's been the voice in my head since I was a teenager. A hidden mantra, tucked into my subconscious for years until therapy pulled it to the surface. It worked great until I had to face the reality that I don't have too many years left where I'll be able to defend myself.
Normally I'd try to put a positive spin on things in my posts, but I can't do that here. I really can't emphasize enough that getting old is scary. No matter how strong I am, no matter how well trained I am, my body has an expiration date, and that time is coming quick. And there ain't shit I can do about it.
I gotta leave some sort of pic or video for the Facebook crowd, so here it is.
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