Yahoo Finance Stuart Heritage: Turns Out We're Not Superhuman
Want to hear a fun story? Of course you do. One evening, a little while ago, my chest started to hurt. Not a lot, but enough for me to notice. Then I realised that it was getting harder to breathe. Then both my arms started hurting.
Some paramedics arrived. They shaved four rectangles into my chest hair and plugged me into an ECG. And then I was in an ambulance on the way to hospital, where they measured my heart rate and X-rayed my chest. Obviously at this point, I was thinking about all the people I’ve known who died of a heart attack. It’s a horrible way to die. My mum died of cancer, and that’s a brutal way to go, but at least you’re forewarned. At least you have time to tell your family that you love them. But with a heart attack, you’re found. People walk through the door and it’s already happened.
While I was waiting to be seen, I realised that, whatever happened, this is it. I’m 40. I’ve reached the point where I am no longer invincible. If I’d had chest pains at 30, I would have walked around until they went away. If they’d have happened at 20, I wouldn’t have even noticed. But I’m now at the age when, if things start to go wrong, they’ll often stay wrong. I’m middle-aged now. The Great Decline has begun.
Until now, my attitude towards keeping in shape has been simple. Imagine two columns, one entitled ‘Food’ and the other ‘Exercise’. My philosophy has been that it doesn’t matter how crazy I can go with the former, because the latter will rebalance it. I can eat and drink whatever I like, so long as I work out a little harder to compensate. That’s a ridiculously high intensity to maintain.
It seems to me that I’m at a point now when I should probably start to make lifestyle changes. Less booze, better food. Should I go vegan? It wouldn’t hurt. Maybe I need to start being smarter about what I put into my body.
You probably had a similar moment as a kid. When you’re very little, you hit things as hard
as you can because it’s the only way to make an impact. But you get a little bigger, and you get a little stronger, and your punches land harder. There comes a point when you realise you can’t just smash everything with all your might. You have to learn to modulate; to move gently in the world. This, aged 40, is how I’ve started to feel about my body.
Anyway, long story short, it wasn’t a heart attack. Six and a half hours after the pain began, a doctor told me that I’d torn a muscle in my chest by digging up a lawn. Embarrassing. Not quite as embarrassing as the woman who told me she went to hospital with the same thing, but it was trapped wind, and got discharged after farting near a nurse, but embarrassing nonetheless.
Still, it feels like a bullet dodged. If I can be hospitalised for gardening, then I can be hospitalised for anything. I’m not wildly keen on going through this again, so it’s time to think seriously about treating my body with a bit more care. Next time you see me, I’ll be Gwyneth Paltrow.
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