Getting out of bed a while back, I heard a creaking sound.
It was me.
I’m not saying I normally expect to wake up, spring to my feet, jeté into the hall and then somersaulting down the stairs like a Slinky. My mornings start with a subdued but single-minded shuffle from the bed to the coffeemaker.
But this winter I started noticing a measurable lapse of time between “sitting up in bed” and “standing up.” My muscles and joints seem to resent the sudden change in plans.
I just turned 48. What gives?