When you’re young you can’t imagine a point in your life when you’re living with physical limitations.  

I mean, sure, maybe you’re not as strong as you’d like to be. Maybe you’re not quite as quick and fit as some of your mates. But for me at least, the thought of a relatively straightforward physical action being too difficult or too painful never even crossed my mind. You take health and dexterity, mobility, and general limberness for granted.   

I remember Dad getting home from his football games when I was kid. He’d limp through the front door, strap ice packs to both of knees, and splay himself out on the couch, still in his grubby kit. When you’re a kid, you can see your dad’s in pain, but you never pause to wonder if that might happen to you, one day, too.    

A couple of years ago I couldn’t get past a sharp pain in my left hip. I thought I’d pulled a muscle, and I went to the physio for the first time in my life. But a series of scans moved me quickly up food chain. Physio-sports doctor-surgeon. One of the specialists said I had the hip of someone in their sixties, and it was probably only a matter of time before I’d have to get a new one. In the meantime, the best advice they could give me was don’t do stuff that hurts. 

Truthfully, I’ve found that harder than it sounds. Although I haven’t played a single game of squash in at least a couple of years, a weekly game of very average social football has been the most consistent social activity in my life. You know what they say about men and how they have to be doing stuff together? Well, guilty as charged. I don’t want to just sit around and talk about stuff, I want to be kicking a ball! I’m convinced there’s something about physically competing, albeit in a lowly social league, that does an awful lot of good for the top few inches.  

What it doesn’t do is much good for my hip. I turn like a waning container ship at the best of times, but the short-twitch reactions required in midfield have not been aided by my swiftly decaying cartilage. I picture it, rotting away like a paper bag in a puddle. Halfway through last year I started proactively taking painkillers before games. Sometimes I struggle to walk normally for days afterwards.   

I know this isn’t good. I know I shouldn’t play. I know, rationally, that constantly agitating and inflaming the same injury is going to cause more problems down the track. And if sometime in the future I can’t tramp or ride my bike, I’d be furious with myself. But quitting football has felt like a threshold. I’ve never had an injury that didn’t improve. I’ve never not been able to play something.  

Then last week, I faced a reckoning. I visited a primary school, and the kids encouraged me to sit with them on the mat and pose for a photo. You know how these things go... Crossing your legs and sitting on the mat is the kind of thing you give zero notice to. Until one day you can’t do it. It was agony. I folded myself down as best I could and yet in the photo, I don’t even get halfway to the ground. My butt’s on the ground but my knees are up at nipple height. I look like a capital X.   

When I finished at the school there was a text waiting. Who’s in for football next season? Most of the guys quickly replied, ‘Yep, keen.’  

When you’re young most of us don’t imagine a point in life living with physical limitations. We didn’t ask when Dad started wincing when he reached for his shoelaces. We didn’t question why Grandma shuffles.   

And then one day it begins. You have to start saying no. 

When you’re young you can’t imagine a point in your life when you’re living with physical limitations. &nbsp;
I mean, sure, maybe you’re not as strong as you’d like to be. Maybe you’re not quite as quick and fit as some of your mates. But for me at least, the thought of a relatively straightforward physical action being too difficult or too painful never even crossed my mind. You take health and dexterity, mobility, and general limberness for granted. &nbsp;&nbsp;
I remember Dad getting home from his football games when I was kid. He’d limp through the front door, strap ice packs to both of knees, and splay himself out on the couch, still in his grubby kit. When you’re a kid, you can see your dad’s in pain, but you never pause to wonder if that might happen to you, one day, too. &nbsp; &nbsp;
A couple of years ago I couldn’t get past a sharp pain in my left hip. I thought I’d pulled a muscle, and I went to the physio for the first time in my life. But a series of scans moved me quickly up food chain. Physio-sports doctor-surgeon. One of the specialists said I had the hip of someone in their sixties, and it was probably only a matter of time before I’d have to get a new one. In the meantime, the best advice they could give me was don’t do stuff that hurts.&nbsp;
Truthfully, I’ve found that harder than it sounds. Although I haven’t played a single game of squash in at least a couple of years, a weekly game of very average social football has been the most consistent social activity in my life. You know what they say about men and how they have to be doing stuff together? Well, guilty as charged. I don’t want to just sit around and talk about stuff, I want to be kicking a ball! I’m convinced there’s something about physically competing, albeit in a lowly social league, that does an awful lot of good for the top few inches. &nbsp;
What it doesn’t do is much good for my hip. I turn like a waning container ship at the best of times, but the short-twitch reactions required in midfield have not been aided by my swiftly decaying cartilage. I picture it, rotting away like a paper bag in a puddle. Halfway through last year I started proactively taking painkillers before games. Sometimes I struggle to walk normally for days afterwards. &nbsp;&nbsp;
I know this isn’t good. I know I shouldn’t play. I know, rationally, that constantly agitating and inflaming the same injury is going to cause more problems down the track. And if sometime in the future I can’t tramp or ride my bike, I’d be furious with myself. But quitting football has felt like a threshold. I’ve never had an injury that didn’t improve. I’ve never not been able to play something. &nbsp;
Then last week, I faced a reckoning. I visited a primary school, and the kids encouraged me to sit with them on the mat and pose for a photo. You know how these things go... Crossing your legs and sitting on the mat is the kind of thing you give zero notice to. Until one day you can’t do it. It was agony. I folded myself down as best I could and yet in the photo, I don’t even get halfway to the ground. My butt’s on the ground but my knees are up at nipple height. I look like a capital X. &nbsp;&nbsp;
When I finished at the school there was a text waiting. Who’s in for football next season? Most of the guys quickly replied, ‘Yep, keen.’ &nbsp;
When you’re young most of us don’t imagine a point in life living with physical limitations. We didn’t ask when Dad started wincing when he reached for his shoelaces. We didn’t question why Grandma shuffles. &nbsp;&nbsp;
And then one day it begins. You have to start saying no.&nbsp;

Jack Tame’s crisp perspective, style and enthusiasm makes for refreshing and entertaining Saturday morning radio on Newstalk ZB.

News, sport, books, music, gardens and celebrities – what better way to spend your Saturdays?

Jack Tame’s crisp perspective, style and enthusiasm makes for refreshing and entertaining Saturday morning radio on Newstalk ZB. News, sport, books, music, gardens and celebrities – what better way to spend your Saturdays?

Saturday Morning with Jack Tame

Jack Tame: Reaching the point of physical limitations

https://api.omny.fm/orgs/7784f840-c291-422a-924b-ad9000bbad71/clips/5b90edf2-806c-4834-8b2b-b34f0167710a/transcript