“Nothing makes you feel old like being old.” – Old Man
After Wednesday’s 5-mile hike at Deerfield (my second within a few days), I was feeling pretty good about myself. “So what if I’m older, fatter, and ‘on a break’ from my bike? I can still push myself and have fun in the woods in other ways,” I thought as I drove home.
Yeah, that felt great. Well, at least until later that afternoon, when my entire lower back seized up, and I could barely move until copious amounts of water, ibuprofen, beer, and other legal substances could take effect.
The next morning, my back felt fine, so I kept my semi-regular appointment with myself to lift heavy things for no reason at the gym.
As I did my 1-mile warmup on the treadmill, I nervously waited to feel the pain return to my back, but it was all good. So, onward to my circuit of weight machines, I went. Chest press and rows went as expected, and then I made it to the fly machine, an integral machine in Operation Pec-Lift III.
It was all going according to plan until midway through my second set of flys; I felt something aggressively pop in my shoulder, and had I not had the soothing fuzz-metal sounds of Wo Fat in my earholes, I would have sworn it was an audible pop that everyone in the gym was horrified by.
As pain shot through my shoulder and a warm sensation akin to rancid hobo’s piss (the best kind of hobo’s piss, I’m told) ran down through my bicep, I grit my teeth, carefully lowered the weight stack, and cleaned the machine. I had been there less than 30 minutes but knew there was no way I could, or should, keep lifting.
Feeling ashamed and embarrassed, I looked down at my watch and pantomimed the universal look for, “wow, look at the time; I have to go.” I’m not sure why I did that; I doubt that a gym full of strangers cared or noticed the early exit of the fat, sweaty, creepy old guy who always stares at the floor so as not to be spell-bound by passing lady buttocks rocking a fresh “booty pump.”
As the day went on, my shoulder started feeling much better, and by the next day, only certain movements indicated that anything had happened at all. Somehow, it feels better than before I went to the gym that day.
Not to be deterred by two injuries in two days, I returned to Deerfield Park on Thursday to hike another 5 miles through the woods. I happily plodded through the woods taking photos on a perfect summer morning, happy that neither of my recent injuries could keep me down. Well, at least until mile 4.
When my watch buzzed to let me know that I had hit mile 4 of my hike, I started to fill a twinge of discomfort in my back. I stopped, cussed myself, did a few stretches, and even sat on a nearby fallen tree for a moment before starting off on the last mile.
“Yeah, that feels better; all I needed was to stretch a bit. It’s fine.” I thought as I continued down the trail—WHAMMMMM!!! A FULL-BLOWN TAKE YOUR BREATH AWAY BACK SPASM!!!
Shit.
I stopped, gathered myself, did more stretching, and then gingerly set off down the trail, muttering obscenities, gritting my teeth, and embracing thoughts of being euthanized by AARP foot soldiers for the crime of failing to live my best marketing-friendly life after 50. AND not being retired; just old and useless.
Finally, I made it to the car, then home for a hot shower and another round of rest and self-medicating on the couch until the pain was gone later that night.
I’m sure those velcro-shoelaced thugs from the AARP will be at my doorstep to disburse my punishment soon enough. If I’m lucky, I will escape death or being force-fed Werther’s candy and made to watch VHS taped reruns of Regis and Kathie Lee and only receive a slap on the wrist in the form of having my coupons for a complimentary appetizer (before 4 PM) at Ponderosa Steakhouse rescinded.
This week did not play out the way I anticipated, and it was a real blow to my already shredded, fragile, depressed, anxious, old-ass ego. However, I’m not going to get too down about it; shit happens, and as we age, shit happens more—sometimes in your pants. I will live to lumber another day!! Just not today; I have things to do. I also want to use that AARP Ponderosa coupon as soon as possible; I have a hankering for some never-fresh, always frozen Jalapeño Poppers! That will, given my luck, probably leave me with a raging case of diverticulitis.
Later.