Thirty years ago, Snap, Crackle and Pop was a breakfast cereal.

Today, it’s the sound I make getting out of bed.

And getting out of the car.

And getting off the sofa.

Come to think of it, pretty much any time I try to move from a sitting position to a standing position, there’s a reasonable chance one of those three makes an appearance.

The annoying thing is, I don’t actually feel 53.

At least, I don’t feel 53 in my head.

My knees, however, appear to have received the memo.

There was a time when I’d get out of bed without giving it a second thought. Now there’s a brief negotiation.

Brain: “Right, let’s get up.”

Body: “Absolutely not.”

Brain: “Come on, we’ve got things to do.”

Knees: “We’ll need a minute.”

And it’s not just getting out of bed.

Getting out of the car has become an exercise in planning, positioning and pretending that nobody is watching.

You know that little grunt people make when they stand up?

I used to think that was an old-person thing.

Turns out it isn’t.

It’s a me thing.

And apparently, it’s getting louder.

The funny part is that I don’t think getting older is necessarily the problem.

It’s noticing that the things you once did automatically now require a little more thought.

You stretch before doing something physical.

You think twice before lifting something awkward.

You make a noise when you sit down.

You make another noise when you stand up.

And somewhere along the way, you start discussing the weather because apparently that’s what happens next.

But here’s the thing.

I’m 53.

I’m not ready to start acting like life is winding down.

If anything, I’m starting to realise that there’s still a hell of a lot I want to do.

I might just need an extra five minutes to get off the sofa first.

Snap.

Crackle.

Pop.

Yep.

Still here.

Still moving.

Still Not Done Yet.