Commentary: Getting Too Old To Keel Over

I saw an online article from the AARP the other day (what, at this point in my life, I should be keeping up with the Kardashians?). The subject was "22 Things You Shouldn't Do Again After 50." I never got a chance to read it (type was too small, and I didn't have my heavy-duty readers with me), but I've got one more you can add to the list.

Don't trip. Or, more specifically, since it's not the long drop down but the sudden stop at the end that gets you, don't fall after tripping.

OK, since no one really sets out to trip, and falling down is generally considered to be an accident or the byproduct of something else you probably shouldn't be doing, you'd think advising against it would sort of go without saying.

Which has never stopped any mother in history from lamenting to her child that he is about to fall down and break his neck. Or put an eye out. Since apparently those are the only two bad things that can happen to you when you're in motion, and they are definitely going to happen if you don't settle down right now, young man!

But I digress. Or have a flashback. One or the other...

Anyway, as luck would have it, I'm kind of an expert about falling off things. Trees, houses, fire escapes, the wagon, it doesn't matter. If, actually or symbolically, it's possible for gravity to rear its ugly head, I've likely been a victim.

But falling off a street takes a little effort. Don't worry. I was up to the challenge.

All right, so, exactly what happened during my latest brush with Newton's brainchild is a matter of perspective. I'm fairly certain I was dashing down the street at a blistering 5-minute-per-mile pace when an earthquake produced a gigantic upheaval that caused me to execute an amazing somersault and land with cat-like grace, crouched and ready for action, on the yard.

Of course, it's also likely (and, frankly, probable) I was creeping along barely fast enough to qualify as moving, much less running, and the fact that I was scarcely picking up my feet caused me to trip over a completely motionless, fairly insignificant blob of concrete.

At that point I began to stagger and cartwheel my arms in a hopeless attempt to regain what little balance (and dignity) I had, a scene reminiscent of a goose trying to land on a frozen pond in high wind.

I've always suspected in the back of my mind that when I run, I look like someone who is trying to fall down and just hasn't gotten it done yet. Well, this time, I did.

Just in case you're wondering, let me share with you an important detail of falling down. It hurts. A lot.

OK, I know you think I'm stating the obvious, but remember when you were very, very young and they sang that nursery rhyme that ends with "we all fall down," and you all, well, fell down? And then, you jumped back up, laughing, and did it again?

Well, that doesn't happen anymore.

Now, you hurt, instantly, and then more later. But the oddest thing about it is that stuff hurts, and you can't explain, specifically, why.

Dana Carvey, the comedian, said the worst thing about growing older is you can hurt stuff doing nothing at all. Well, when you grow older and actually do something, you can hurt stuff and have no idea how it's related.

So, knees that hit the concrete, check. Hands, where I landed on the sidewalk, got it. But is it really possible to sprain your armpit? And exactly how does one bandage that?

The moral of this story is that there probably isn't any moral to the story if that means I'm likely to stop doing stupid stuff that's going to potentially leave me sprawled in some stranger's yard. It's far more likely my motto is going to have less to do with growing wiser with the passage of time and more to do with only being young once but being immature forever.

Besides, at my age, something pretty much hurts all the time, anyway. Might as well have it be the result of something interesting. Scars, as they say, are tattoos with better stories.

And you meet such nice people, even if it's when they come out to check on you.

GARY SMITH IS A RECOVERING JOURNALIST LIVING IN ROGERS.

Commentary on 05/22/2014

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