#Senior Moment

I am at that age, in my sixth decade, when I am quite sensitive to what my muscles and organs are trying to tell me.

The faintest twinge or that ominous sounding deep down gurgle causes me to hesitate in whatever I am doing and analyse what is going on.

Having recently not only joined a local gym but actually taken part in regular training sessions on the premises I have experienced some very weird and wonderful sensations in long dormant or underused parts of my body.

After the very first run-through of my weights repetitions a couple of weeks ago I was unable to lift my arms above the horizontal for a few days after but this has gradually eased and returned to normal in terms of manipulation and mobility.

I have also resumed a lot of cycling activities with upwards of 70 to 80 miles ridden on a weekly basis and this has been the catalyst for a few painful muscle contractions in the middle of the night or if I have sat in an awkward position at my work station or whilst out in the car.

The main problem is that I have the notion that I am back in my peak fitness days of late teens and early to mid twenties and my brain encourages this thought regardless of what my body is transmitting back in terms of pains and strains.

I am reluctant to admit that I am indeed much older but respect the need to accept my limitations.

Rest is important and I must learn to say No if invited to do anything involving physical exertion or concentrated activity.

Just today I experienced an unusual spasm in my right lower abdomen area.

Just placing a foot down at a junction whilst sat on a bike saddle can overstretch calf and thigh muscles and trying to keep up with my 20 year old son on a long hill ascent induces a burning, cramp type sensation.

I thought that maybe this new spasm was a delayed reaction to the fast paced 90km ride at the weekend and so dismissed it as such. I carried on in my daily workload but the pain returned on an intermittent basis mainly when pressing my right foot down on the accelerator in the car or when walking a first few steps on arriving at my various destinations on my round of appointments.

I did have my appendix out a few years ago and what was intended to be keyhole surgery became, with complications, more like putting a fishing rod through a letter box. You do hear from time to time about bits of operating theatre equipment being stitched up inside a patient and this did cross my mind briefly.

The actual position of the pain was difficult to pin down.

One moment it was just below the waistband of my trousers, the next a bit further down. It was mobile as though parasitic in nature and adapting to avoid detection and any attempts at a remedy or relief.

Fiddling around in the trouser department is not something to be done in the public street. To a casual onlooker it could seem as though I had mislaid a small rodent or even a small stash of coins amongst the deposits of lint in the lining of a deep pocket.

Sat in the drivers seat of the car and undertaking an examination in that region of the body could look even more suspicious to a passing pedestrian. I did try but the seated position imposed some constriction on my trouser top.

It was a case of just finding a quiet location where I would not be overlooked and carrying out as detailed an investigation as possible without getting reported to the police or subjected to the embarrassment of a Citizens Arrest for seemingly lewd and rude behaviour.

The far corner of a suburban car park seemed suitable being deserted on a Wednesday afternoon.

I gently probed the area of the concerning twinge with my right hand. There was a defined shape and form to it. My understanding of a hernia flew against this observation and this gave me a feeling of relief but I was not, as they say, in the clear just yet.

It was quite rigid and through my tucked in shirt and waistband also very smooth. I could make out a narrow top edge and regular dimensions to the two sides. It followed that there would be a lower side and I confirmed this.It might not be part of my body after all.

I then had a bit of a flashback to when I had been getting  ready to leave for work at about 7.30am that day. I had caught sight, on the bedroom floor, of a distinctive purple piece of plastic that was my ID Card from my professional organisation. On a regular basis I had to show it to get past cautious homeowners and officious jobsworth estate agents and it was therefore quite an essential piece of documentation. In my part clothed state and morning stupor I must have picked up the credit card sized item and placed it somewhere for safe keeping.

This, on the evidence before me, was obviously in the side panel of my pants just below the elasticated top. It had just sat there quite nicely and had not been any trouble until that abdominal spasm. I was mightily relieved and not a little embarassed.

My body was fit and healthy after all.

I just have my brain and those worrying senior moments to contend with.