I've been building a gym rat regimen at a rate of progress that would not cause a glacier to hurl. The big thing for me, says my rheumatologist, is to constantly exceed ten thousand steps a day and make more than half of them count for core strength. I have no idea what that means-he says it every six months and I don't want to disappoint or upset him so I nod my head as if agreeing. And maybe I am.
Meanwhile, a couple of hours drive south from me my younger brother, Adam, is running shore relay races and other such stuff, to include marathons. Not only am I not going to be Last Man Standing I've been assured by more than one specialist after finding more arthritis in the x-rays of my hips and spine, I won't even be the Last Man.
So yesterday morning, still tired and actually too tired to talk myself out of it on knees that are well and truly shot, I ran for an entire thirty minute session on a stationary treadmill. Let me be clear, if you are 5 and 10 K race guy, you are trying to be polite and not smile as you read that. I do appreciate the kindness, since in our much younger days, I changed your diapers and have incredible stories I am willing to recall or make-up (it's hard at my age to tell the difference anymore) if I don't feel the warmth of inclusion. But that's ochsen scheisse and even I know it.
Seriously-the pace wasn't much faster than a brisk walk, 4.2 miles an hour but when it's been six years since an upper compartmental right knee replacement and two plus a smidgen for a left knee Total Knee Replacement, you feel every step very quickly and more intensely than you realized (assuming you did any calculating at all; the Feast of the Assumption was this past Monday). Actually what I felt was like I was on my knees running in broken glass.
As I finished up, I became aware that a noise like a fire siren I was hearing was actually the sound of my voice screaming. My theory in the cold light of the following day was that I was trying to drown out the screaming coming from my knees. If so, I succeeded as I didn't hear them though I certainly felt them. I was disappointed to learn the gym doesn't have an ice-filled whirlpool and then angry and hurt that the local supermarket will not allow you to wade into their bag o' ice walk-in refrigerator up to your knees for ten minutes after you take off your trousers and give them your wallet. Point in fact: their security guy won't even let you put your own pants back on in their store and I had to hop with one trouser leg still a work in progress empty-handed back to the car. Bastard.
I'm not a Tough Mudder-I know someone who is (or will be in a couple of weeks) and she isn't, if you follow my drift and it's not my goal to ever get there. As a kid I used to run all of Harvey's Lake (Pennsylvania) everyday. Now, I'd be lucky if I could drive it and not get lost (except in the memories). I'm pretending I'm auditioning for SYTYCD, Jungle Rules Edition, but with my luck I'd actually make the cut and have to worry if those tap shoes make my butt look big. What do you mean 'too late'?
-bill kenny
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