Sometime in August, last year. Old man’s softball. Dunno how it happened. Happens as one ages. Forget. Can’t remember any exact play, slide, twist, turn. Injured hip. Justification to drive RIGHT past the Community Center nightly - where I was once a familiar, damn near daily, face.
Hip better by late October. Kept driving past that sucker. Forgot. Forgot to stop. Remember the $23 a month they take out automatically, but I milked a two month injury into seven months.
Soooo.. With Daylight Savings time upcoming, hopefully warmer days, Corporate Challenge, softball - and yes, thanks to the belly that is begging me to go out and buy 38x30’s, having pushed the 36x30’s to the limit - I went back to working out. Am I the only one in America that sweats, groans, fights, gets channel locks out to FINALLY get that waist button in the hole, giving it my best “I’ll be DAMNED if I’m gonna buy the next size up”?
Thirty minutes on the elliptical.. A trip to the sauna, then the Jacuzzi - aha, not too bad. Next day, HEY, it’s fitty degrees. We ain’t seen fitty degrees since… since… I forget. Happens as one ages.
“I know, I’ll go to the High School track, sprint the straightaways and jog the curves.” Uh huh, sure Victor. Bridge/Florida. Gal that usedta play basketball for me years ago. Couple years my junior. Still, classifies her as old today. See her damn near every day in my commute to work on the lonely 3-mile stretch that leads to Interstate. “Jogging.” Truth be known, she ain’t. She’s doing what I would call “fast-walk”.. It’s kinda sad to see age/deterioration over the years, but you can see it in her “running.”
Soooooooo… I await the snotnoses finishing track practice, then the track is mine, all mine. Bruce Jenner, move over, here I come. Stretch, try to look like I know whatthehehell I’m doing - and “HE’S OFF!”.. Wow, long time no run. As I made my way down the straightaway, I peeked at the empty bleachers to my right. Had they been filled, there woulda been great laughter.. “Look at that old geezer… he thinks he’s sprinting… HE’S FAST WALKING! HA HA HA HA HA!”..
Right. I was. Ok, so maybe I’ll jog the straightaways and walk the curves….. Hey, I’m still moving. 3 miles, by God I’m doing three miles. Shortly after lap one, hear church bells chime 6pm.. Ok, I’ll do this until I hear it go off at that half hour. NO, by God, you're doing 3 miles. K. Whatever you say inner motivation person.
Lap number 3... A couple of snotnoses return and go the the long jump pit. Now, this Corporate Challenge thing, I saw they have the long jump. I usedta do that, long ago. Could I still? I peeked at last year’s results - and whilst they didn’t have an over fitty age group, they did have an over 40. Eighteen feet was the winner… Hmmmm.. How far could I jump? HEY, six feet was last place. Hell, I can do that. So, I glanced over at the long jump thingy.. Shee-it, if one “fast-walks” insteada actually running, I might not make six feet. Oh well.
Damn it’s cold (lap 5) maybe I’ll just do a mile anda half. NO, by God, you’re doing three miles. This is starting to hurt (laps 7, 8, 9).. I SAID 3 MILES!.. Sometimes, evil wins out, and after completing my 10th lap (2 and ½ miles) I headed for my friendly van to drive home.
Next day. I couldn’t move. Hadta pee, but didn’t wanna get up. Knew I couldn’t stay in bed, so made a hideous trek to squatter. Ouch. Damn. I HATE AGING. I don’t wanna go to work. Victor, it’s friggin March, you’ll be outta sick leave before summer if you keep this up. Oh ok. Went. Hurt. Ginger. Sat fatass in chair, even skipped a few smoke breaks - VERY unusual for me. Cussing my quadriceps femoris.
Driving home that night… You ARE turning into the gym. You’re at 209. Not as bad as you thought, but you’re a 38”, 36” wanna be. Turn. Evil won again. Besides, my buddies truck was at the watering hole where we go. It’ll be ok. Beer will help forget the muscle pain.
Saturday, two days after my “fast-walk” experience. To gym. YES, good job Victor! Huh uh, there only for the Jacuzzi. I still hurt. Up walks onea the most shapely ladies I’d seen in a long time. Could tell from face “notta kid”, but dayum she had the body of a 20-something, pre-childbearing, pre 800 trips for Happy Meals.. She was drop dead gorgeous. Japanese lady.
Conversation. “I run marathons.” She-it. I couldn’t tell the 2 and a half mile story.. How can I brag when I run 1/13 as far as her. “Well, I’m fitty-seven, and I still play softball.” THAT’S GREAT.. I’m 65, and I’m supposed to run in the Boston Marathon this year. Shee-it. SIXTY-FIVE? Honest, she didn’t look a day past 40, and her body a day past 20. “YOU LOOK WONDERFUL!” I blurted before I realized how pathetically “come-on” that might sound.
“YOU TOO!” she countered. Aha, I knew too good to be true. Bitch can’t see. She told me her name, and that she’d finished 2nd in a local race… I went home, looked it up online, yep, right there she was. WELL, I PLAYED HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL.. And I STILL play softball.. Yes Victor, but now you “Fast-walk”. Sadly, true, I do.
Later that day I returned to the gym. Did. Worked out s’more. Not quite as angry with my thigh muscles - so mebbe one day real soon I shall return to the track. Goal of 11 laps now. Might even sneak over the long jump pit for some fast-walking-jumping. Six feet… I can do that…….. Can’t I?
Fe fe fi fi fo fo fum
I smell smoke in the auditorium
Ole Victurd, Ole Victurd
He's a clown, that Ole Victurd..
He's gonna get caught, just you wait and see
(Why's everybody always pickin' on me?)
Yours in fast-walking, love, Victurd.
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