HELL GETTING OLD

I’ve become a cliché.  Old folks sitting around the table discussing various aches and pains, some new, others companions for years.

It started with me nearly 20 years ago when showing my daughter Katie the proper way to toss the discus.  A single afternoon of instruction had me right stove for the next week.  It needn’t be as exotic as a weight implement to start a discussion.  Sometimes you just wake up and are sore somewhere.

I strained a rhomboid throwing a 100′ roll of 4″ drain pipe up into the barn loft.  Nearly 10 days ago, I’ve hardly slept a wink, wrenched locomotion more akin to a zombie’s gait.  Linda saw a grown man cry.  Getting better every day.

You readers of a certain vintage are in the same pain parade, the way of the world after all.  And just as certain as its hell getting old is the fact that its all worth it to wake up another day.   Another shot at lacing them up and going for a run.  To pursue that moment when you feel free and flying and young again.