Obviously, my sports related injury (please, allow me a few more times to say this) has encouraged a number of you to remind me of my age.
It’s tough enough being the oldest guy in the room without feeling it every time my left foot hits the ground. While I was running, I did not feel 56.
Here’s the little secret. As I huffed and puffed my way through the .8 mile course Helaine and I ran (I could lie, but I measured it using Google Earth), all I could think of was the runner’s body I was going to get.
Maybe you don’t understand that siren song? I drive by a running path every day. The runners – they look good! You don’t see a lot of dumpy runners.
When I was younger, I got by on my metabolism. I ate anything and stayed slim. I wasn’t toned, but I didn’t care. Now, I eat a pretzel and feel my stomach press up against my belt. No one wants to see me on the beach with my shirt off – most of all me!
I have begun physical therapy for my injury. They say, I will probably be able to start running again. I’d like to. If I stretch properly and do things by the book, maybe I can succeed.
In the meantime, I’ve lost over a week to this leg. That’s upsetting.
Today, for the fist time, I got on my bike and rode my circuit three times – around 2.4 miles. My leg still hurts, but the riding didn’t make it worse. It’s probably good stretching with no harsh impact.
I pumped hard and stood on the peddles to maintain speed, as I went up the small inclines along the way. My heart was pounding and my pores were sweating by the time I pulled back into the garage.
Bike riding will be my mistress. I lust after running.
It’s not the act of running itself that draws me, but the thought that maybe, by September, I might be able to run in the New Haven Road Race. That would be the single most significant physical achievement of my 56 (by then 57) years.
You’ve got to have a goal.