old.

There, I said it. Old. Old. Old. I can’t eat the same things I used to, at least not without ramifications. I can’t recover from injuries as quick as I used to; I feel the aches and pains of my activities far longer than before. My eyes aren’t as strong as they once were. My academic skills not as sharp. The change that bothers me the most though, is how big of a wuss I am.

When I was young, my mom once told me that I didn’t let minor illnesses slow me down. A mild cold would go unnoticed. A sore throat only noticed by a slightly raspy voice. She knew when I was really ill because only then would I complain about it.

Now, however, I complain at the slightest illness. If my nose starts to get stuffy, I’m done for the day. And forget about coming near me if my throat hurts; I’ll complain your ear off. Where I used to get awards in school for not missing a day, I now cannot get through a season without calling in sick.

Being sick sucks, now more than ever.