I turned 60 last year. Old. Fucking old. But heh, I was only a day older than the day before, and its not like one minute you’re 27 and the next you’re 60. It just feels like that. One of the rules of getting old is that you have to moan about aches, pains and injuries. You have to mention bowel movements at least once a month, multiple micturations (oh, look it up) and most importantly, you need to develop a vast orthopaedic knowledge. Life becomes a bit more medical.

The other night I went to Tai Chi. Which is a truly wonderful thing to do. Teaches you balance and poise and standing properly and walking correctly and how to perform the Tai Chi ‘dance’ and how to use that to break people’s bones. But only people who wish you harm. You can hurt others but its not compulsory. Tai Chi is ‘deep’. You learn a movement, then you smash someone in the throat to really appreciate what that movement should be for and thus makes you do the movement more accurately, which in turn enables you to hurt more efficiently. Just a very simple, energy-efficient feedback-loop. Only takes a lifetime to learn.

So the other night, conscious as ever about my very dodgy right shoulder, and careful of my relatively recently strained hip, I performed a ‘slant fly’. All Tai Chi moves have names. Lots of them quite pretty and poetic. Which can be deceptive as ‘white crane spreads wings’ is a simultaneous head block and smash into someone’s bollocks. Slant fly is a way to knock a man backwards. Or a woman; tai chi is really equal opportunity and hence violence against women is heartily encouraged. And its a great move. And it all comes from your legs. Unless… unless you accidentally get your back involved and you’re toppling about 16 stone of your mate using muscles that don’t like it. So my back went a bit funny too.

This morning I went again, because you have to, because its wonderful, because its fun and because its sort of addictive, and I tried to be very conscious of… most of body which was still hurting and aching and painful. And I was.

So buoyed by my lack of further injury I went to tennis. Where my shoulder felt like it had already dislocated, my back was constantly painful and my hip played up after about 50 minutes. I didn’t know whether to limp, hobble or just fucking lay down and die and be done with it.

60 isn’t the new 40, they lied. Its the new 90.

But I’m discovering new muscles all the time that I never knew I had. To re-write the late, great Harry Carpenter, I’m pulling muscles in places I never knew I had places.

Happy, achy Saturday

A xxxx