Blog: OMG I Hate Being 30

(originally written 9/2/10)

Remember when we were all kids and we desperately awaited the day we’d be adults so our parents couldn’t boss us around anymore? “I can’t WAIT til I’m grown!” we’d all say.

 

Little did we know.

Little did I know!

 

I turned 30 back in March, and ever since then, my body has developed a new flaw seemingly each week without fail. In my 20’s, I could hop out of bed and do whatever I wanted—basketball, softball, strenuous labor—and it was all good. Didn’t have to stretch or “warm up”. Just went out and DID IT. Not anymore!

 

These days, I’ll be sore for six weeks if I even make the bed without stretching. (Note: slight exaggeration.)

 

I have limped out of bed on 3am pee runs so many times, I’ve lost count. Oh, that’s the other thing—I have to make 3am pee runs now.

 

When I was in D.C., I swear this happened: I strained my neck while taking a bite of Chinese food. For two days, it hurt to exist. Sleeping was near impossible. Rising from a lying position took up to three minutes of shifting. Burglars would have had time to rob me, sell my stuff, and return the stuff they couldn’t sell by the time I was able to react at all.

 

Such pains never happened in my 20s!

 

Furthermore, I have a right knee that hasn’t been right since that same trip—never gave me any problems before but now that I’m 30, why not, right? A few weeks back, returning home from a family visit late at night, I munched on a small bag of that Chex Mix snack. Used to be nothing, but during that night, I was awakened by what felt like arson taking place in my very own digestive system. Just this morning, I woke up with a cramp in my side. A cramp in my side?! Like my GRANDMA used to have? That couldn’t have happened in my 20s if I tried!

 

Then there’s the new habits.

 

For one, on my last two grocery trips, I found myself “shopping on the outside of the store” primarily for the first time. Stocked up on yogurt, fruit, a few veggies, and—on the Bible this is true—cans of V8. I read the backs of a high percentage of products I buy, checking for things like sodium content, trans fat, cholesterol—you know, lists which may as well have been Swahili medical terms for the twentysomething me.

 

Read the backs of my food packages?? Why the hell would I do that? The only thing I ever read the back of was my baseball cards. (Probably missed out on some hilarious bumper stickers because of that, but I'm not here to talk about the past.)

 

Then there’s the baby.

 

I have a frikkin’ baby. Sometimes I STILL can’t believe that. Me, Skillz, a man not responsible enough to babysit oxygen a few years ago is sharing responsibility for a human life. (Seriously, call the 25-year-old me over to babysit your home’s oxygen. You would have returned to find it had escaped. Unless you wanted to suffocate, I was unfit for the job.)

 

These days, my brain has been transformed—I am not comfortable unless I know where Josie is at ALL TIMES. I know I will never forget her in my car because I check for her even when she’s not with me. And if she’s not with me, I’ve been known to briefly freak out thinking I’ve forgotten her.

 

The last example I will give is the tessellation.

 

For those of you who don’t know, a tessellation is a pattern of shapes. You see them on floors, wallpaper, etc. You also see them commonly on beehives.

 

I didn’t know I knew that in the weeks after the big 3-0, when a buddy of mine stopped by to catch up. Jeopardy! was on in the background—it may have been the teen version—and I heard an answer about the pattern found on beehives. Without hesitation I guessed tessellation.

 

I was right.

I had no idea how I knew that. And neither did my horrified friend, who looked at me as if I’d just propositioned him. I lost street cred that day, and don’t know if I’ll ever get it back.

 

So apparently, growing older doesn’t only affect your body negatively, but it can affect your mind positively. For each unit of cartilage that leaves your body, a previous unknown fact replaces it. Interesting. Using that logic, by the time I’m 50 and my knees have worn out completely, I should be able to successfully land a job with NASA.

 

Though I’ll gladly trade the useless knowledge for healthy limbs…