As we grow older, our bodies fail us. The immortality of our youth is replaced by the recognition of decay and decline all around us. Where once we could see, we now need brighter lights and more magnification. Where once we could run, we now stumble down the block and shuffle up the stairs. Where once our recall was immediate, we now ponder a moment before replying.
Some of us hide these indices of aging, while others of us must publicly deal with the aftereffects of the laughing Gods — for our lot is one of the fallible human being and we earn our deaths proving that divine notion. I used to be able to eat anything.
My metabolism was high. I could race the wind and win on a full stomach and never feel a consequence. Now my once cast-iron stomach has turned to a rusting tenderness. I can no longer eat everything and anything.
I must be selective or pay the price later with discomfort and burning. Some friends tell me to confront my rotting gut with super spicy foods. “You need your stomach to react to the spicy heat and fire up to fight whatever’s bothering you.” Other friends say just the opposite.
“Your stomach is on fire. You need to cool it down. Drink some chamomile tea to calm everything.” Others good friends proclaim, “Stomachs come and go. You have a bad one now. You’ll get a better one soon.” I’m pinning my divinity on the last philosophical effort — and hope to overcome the will of The Gods — with the renewal and redemption of my cast-iron stomach.