Testing, Testing 1, 2, 3
Drawing by Dan Orgill
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We’re a week into 2014 and I note with amusement (not exactly) my old-man peculiarities are developing like they’re going out of style. While stumbling along with focus and form, I’ll suddenly veer to the left and collide with, say, a misplaced pedestrian, a Ladies Only sign post or a longhaired schnauzer doing his duty behind a bush. Woof, woof! Hills of more than three degrees are greeted with resentment and frequent pauses to regain my breath and question my motives for such a brutal undertaking.
During these gripping moments I cannot help but recall my almost magical capabilities of the past, my strength, endurance and vitality. I imagine awesome dumbbells tossed in the air, a clamoring barbell bursting from my chest, and [complete the thought, select a tag line]:
- I smile contentedly, humbly acknowledging those grand years when men were men, women were women and the earth was solid beneath our feet. God bless us.
- I grimace and wonder why I squandered those precious years of exhaustion and exasperation, struggle and strife under the burden of the cold and calculated steel. Seriously!
- Despair overcomes me because the crappy sign on the entrance to the gym, my afternoon destination, reads Closed for New Years. “It’s New Years? The gym’s closed?” But it’s shoulders-and-back day!
- With unfailing confidence my inner voice declares loudly and boldly the two words I’ve come to live by. Never Quit! My credo, the irrefutable assertion of my nature, action and destination.
- I think, if only I had applied that drive, passion and energy to a good cause (politics, vandalism) or a sound business (solar energy, pot growing), I’d be healthy and wealthy, famous and wise. Dabnabbit!
- How simple and complete life was then: see iron, lift iron -- see steel, lift steel -- see barbell, press barbell -- see meat, eat meat – see road, travel -- see mirror, pump up ’n hit a most-muscular pose.
There you have it, bombers, a quirky inquiry to awaken your wits, challenge your patience, stir your creativity and rally the ole IronOnline spirit. Let’s face it, each of us alone and by our self is not sufficient to keep the sets and reps and pump and burn happening. We need to know someone else cares and understands what it’s like to plod, prod and poke around in the fields of iron amid ferocious hurricanes, overwhelming floods, devastating fires, incapacitating snowstorms; economic travail, government bamboozling, ignominious leadership failure, arrogant social manipulations… gag… cocky deceptions, blatant freedom breaches, despicable lies… gasp… senseless shootings, mass murders and rampant wars in this wobbly world.
Hmmm... Make a great TV soap opera: As the World Wobbles.
Yup, I guess we’re getting older. I wouldn’t call it a stoop, but I putt along as if I’m looking for a penny, a quarter or a dollar, depending on how lucky I feel. For five bucks I’ll get down on my hands and knees and crawl.
This reminds me of a simple routine I’m hoping to establish in my daily activities. I’m intent on pausing for a moment each time I stand, to attend my posture before proceeding to attend my deeds. This practice includes taking a deep breath, looking forward, throwing the shoulders back and intentionally standing tall. There, isn’t that better? And off I go.
Ugh. Ooph. Woof, woof… oops, sorry little doggie…
Truth is, it’s not as easy as I suggest and some of us can’t accomplish the act, the dare, the art, the PC [Posture Correctness], even if we had cute cheerleaders and a 3PT [personal trainer, physical therapist, psycho therapist]. Dem bones, doze joints and lame brains.
Did I mention I'm peering at the computer screen through blurry eyes as I've not yet recuperated from this morning's cataract surgery? Should be good to go [20/20] by the week's end. I’m treating them with four different eye drops at four different times throughout the day till the end of the month. Life’s a blur.
Here’s the stinker: I have melanoma. More on that one after the clinic in San Francisco completes their assessment. PET scans and CAT scans and lymph nodes are the less-than-appealing words I hear from the lips of oncologists and their friends and associates. So far they excised one ugly mole along the right clavicle. Rats! Had to miss a workout. More excising to come, consultations and excising, and so the story goes… as the world wobbles.
Tomorrow’s schedule: 8AM - PET scan, 2PM - Ophthalmologist checkup, 4PM - CAT scan, 8 PM - chins and dips and Bomber Blend.
Gee… Just when I was getting the hang of things. Go… God’s Speed… Dave
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