Wednesday, August 12, 2015
The thing I hate most about getting older is the ebb of effortless physicality. I hate, hate, HATE, HATE, HATE it! BIG FRICKIN' FROWNY FACE!!!
This morning is a good example. It was all I could do to keep my legs going long enough to get up on step and get the main circulating pump up into operating range. It took a good mile of trudging along on aching, quivering pins before I started to feel human. And it's not just the legs; it's the back and the shoulders and even the damn fingers. It's all old and creaky! Meine verdammten Körper aufgibt auf mich!
Only a decade ago, when I was pushing 50, I could still roll out of the rack and dive in to hard physical exertion. Today it takes a lot of priming.
I shouldn't complain so bitterly, for I'm really blessed. I'm in excellent health, particularly in light of the hard use I've made of my body over the years. And I can still get out and get after it, can still push really hard, can still put in a reasonable days work. It just takes longer to get going, and more effort and willpower to keep going. And then everything hurts at night.
Sometimes I dream about my salad days. I used to be able to drink until 4 a.m., sleep for an hour, get up, throw up, go run five miles, suck down 4,000 calories of grease at the chow hall, shower, work all day, then start the whole cycle again, fresh as a daisy. SMH. If I'd had good guidance and direction (well, if I'd followed that which was abundantly available) and left the hooch alone I could have ruled the world!
I had a nice compliment the other day from one of my (two!) local blog readers. Joe is a former navy AME (aviation structural mechanic) about 20 years my junior. Today he's in law enforcement and I work pretty closely with him from time to time.
Anyway, he went hiking with me the other day and was somewhat surprised to find it a bit more taxing than a simple stroll in the country. There's a lot of up and down out there, and the ground is quite uneven, and this year the tall grass makes it rather like walking in sand. It's a lot of work.
"I hope I'm in as good a shape as you when I'm your age," he said.
I hate to admit it, mostly because I like whining about my infirmities, but he's right. I have a number of peers -- and quite a few I played football with (mumble) years ago -- who can't take the stairs or walk across a parking lot without EMS standing by.
So what do I have to complain about? Not a damn thing. Not really.
But I still complain. I'm a right wanker, I am.