Even in my athletic heyday as a teen (multiple baseball teams, singles tennis, pickup basketball) and my resurgence in my mid-20s to early-30s (multiple softball teams, doubles tennis, pick up another six-pack), I never suffered any serious strains or sprains -- a fact I attribute mostly to my notable lack of muscle.Can't hurt if you don't have them. That's my philosophy.
It worked pretty well. While I was never the biggest or best player on a team, my reflexes, hand-eye coordination and proper positioning always made up for my lack of strength and helped me through. For example, while I never came close to even three-hopping the outfield fence in softball, I could consistently hit line drives up the middle, field pretty well and throw the ball to the right person or base.
Then I hit 34 and -- BAM!
Literally.
A routine ground ball one day attacked my forehead, requiring 13 stitches. Bye-bye reflexes; hello, the doom of middle age.
Therefore, I was not too surprised the day my doctor told me that my hips are tight.
"It's normal for most people your age," she said. "You need to stretch that part of your body more often."
Yet the doctor still refused to write a prescription requiring my wife to have more frequent and acrobatic contact with me. This, my fellow Americans, is the sad state of today's U.S. health care system.
Instead, the doctor told me I should consider yoga. When I asked her how a cup of Yoplait was going to put the motion back in my ocean, she promptly ordered a hearing test. But that's another story.
I had always read great things about yoga. Aside from the physical benefits, there is stress reduction, improving one's sense of awareness, the chance to wear pastel leotards -- all the good stuff. Game on.
As I am a bit reclusive, rather than interact with actual live people (or even dead ones as they are notoriously bad getting out of Downward Facing Dog), I decided to go the self-help route. I dug through my wife's pile of gently used exercise tapes and DVDs and found one titled "A.M./P.M. Yoga for Beginners." I dutifully waited until a few minutes before noon and turned it on.
This particular tape stars Rodney Yee, who I've since learned is some big-time yoga yogi to the stars, one of whom is Oprah Winfrey. This should have been my first warning. The woman goes through dog trainers and diet programs like my son used to go through diapers. She has 37 kajillion dollars and none of these people can solve her problems so where does that leave me, a man who still regularly wears a jacket he bought back when The Hooters had Top 40 hits?
Back to the tape. The soundtrack is a dreamy New Age love fest of synthesized strings, bird calls and crashing ocean swells. And there's Rodney, standing on the pristine sands, shirtless. The tequila-sunrise sunrise is gleaming off his exceptionally ripped chest and abs. Even his very dated granola-guy ponytail, black, thick and luminous as a fresh puddle of Pennzoil Platinum European 5W-40, has great muscle tone.
As I lay down and tried to get in touch with my breathing, I look over to Rodney for further instruction. There he is, laying there in his painted-on Spandex shorts as the breeze caresses the beach and his impossibly sculpted physique and I'm thinking that here, alone in my basement, this is possibly one of the most uncomfortable feelings I've ever had in my life.
And I'm not even in the first pose yet.
Maybe the doctor will reconsider and at least write my wife a fairly persuasive Post-it.
Stamford native Kevin McKeever, a married father of two, is a freelance writer and editor. He also writes the humor blog, Always Home and Uncool, and is a contributor to DadCentric.com. He spent 10 years as a reporter and editor for local newspapers, another nine creating and running the employee communications program for a Fortune 200 company, and then he wised up.
His humorous view of health and wellness, "Rubbing It In," will be featured regularly in future issues of Aetherial Living.
If you enjoy this article, or would like to know more about Kevin, please drop him a comment at kevin@aetheriaspa.com
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