Had someone whispered “avoid high impact sports” in my ear years ago, I would’ve ignored them.  My young body let all that running feel sooo good.  I lived for the runner’s high, the game winning hit, the drive to the net.  I would play injured “for the team.”

At 50 it’s all catching up with me.  If someone whispered in my ear now, I wouldn’t hear them.  I take ibuprofen like a daily vitamin.  My joints and back are not bending.  My “sliding” knee let’s me know when a storm is coming.

So, as my senior years approach, I have graduated to yoga.

I’m told that yoga, unlike many western sports, doesn’t take away in impact as much as it gives in health benefits.  That I’ll love it.  That it’s like meditation.

On this advice, I committed to ten weeks of Wednesday night classes.  Tonight’s my fourth week - the first week I’m looking forward to it.  It’s been shear torture.  My instructor assures me that’s a sign that I really need it.  I know I need something.

But I’ve also started feeling its positive affects.

So much so that I slipped into a few extra classes over the weekend.  Of course, my Downward Dog doesn’t look quite like the instructor’s Downward Dog.  But I’m starting to love it anyway.

Go figure.

Related Reading:

Aging and The Life Course: An Introduction to Social Gerontology: An Introduction to Social Gerontology

Aging With Grace: What the Nun Study Teaches Us About Leading Longer, Healthier, and More Meaningful Lives

Related Posts

• September 9, 2008 -- Hot Flash: I’m Turning 50 (4)
• August 18, 2008 -- Countdown to 50 (9)
• July 31, 2008 -- Pushing Fifty. We Carry a Big Stick. (2)