I spent most of the daylight hours in the yard this weekend. This was the first time this year that we have had back to back days in the seventies ... on a Saturday and Sunday. As usually happens to me after being cooped up indoors all winter, I was chomping at the bit to get out in the yard, and I had a list longer than my arm of things to accomplish.
But this isn't about being a weekend warrior and writing down my list of outdoorsy accomplishments. It's about a hard truth that sneaks up and grabs you by the nads. It lets you know who's boss.
As I lay on the floor last night watching a movie from Netflix, I started to develop cramps in my legs, my arms, my back ... shit even in my ankles. And for the first time it really hit me that I'm not able to do the physical things that I used to.
Because I'm getting old.
Sure, I always joke about getting old, or being old. But that's a joke. The way I felt last night was not a joke. It was reality.
No, I can't go to the home improvement warehouse and load 1,500 lbs of landscaping block into my truck all by myself. No, I can't unload same block and transfer it wheelbarrow by wheelbarrow to the back of my yard. And no, I can't set same block into a retaining wall ... all in one day.
Oh, I can. And I did. But there's a price to pay. A big one. And I'll be paying it all week long every time I make a move.
As I lay in bed after midnight last night, waiting for the Advil to start coursing through my veins to silence my screaming muscles so I could go to sleep, I finally realized that I'm not in my 30's or 40's anymore. I am not superman.
So, from now on, I'll have to temper my activities just a bit. No more spur of the moment projects that drive me to the edge of exhaustion. Everything will have to be planned out a little more carefully ... Spread out over a little more time.
I wonder what I'll be like in another 10 years?
Shit. It is like they say.
It's a bitch getting old.