"Good grief," you're thinking, "what's he on about this time?. Is this an obscure attempt at humour by using metaphor?".
Actually, it is pain-induced. Yesterday, whilst bringing in logs for the wood burning stove, I attempted to reach outwards and downwards for a last log and discovered the outer limit of what my back is actually capable of. It isn't that, it appears. Twenty-four hours later, after much resort to painkillers, and some rather gingerly negotiation of various parts of the house, I am capable of moving around, albeit stiffly and cautiously, although it isn't pretty.
As I have noted in the past, I have not really looked after my spine, slouching in chairs, reaching awkwardly for things rather than doing so in the approved health and safety conscious manner, and carrying more weight than is good for me, albeit less than I was carrying a year ago.
It is a dual reminder, first that I am, despite an emotional denial of the fact, getting older, and second that I really rather ought to look after myself better. A bit more weight lost would ease the pressure on my lower vertebrae, and a bit more exercise would strengthen the muscles that support it.
The problem is that, as I get older, being sedentary becomes more and more appealing. I enjoy my food and drink, and life is generally pretty good.
Oh well, life can't only be wine and roses...
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