I am not so young anymore.
Yesterday, I went to New York City. I didn’t go for the usual sights but visited the Museum of American Armor in Long Island. It was a lengthy haul, involving a 90-minute ride on the LIRR both ways, but I had a good time. There were many tanks, including one used in the Six-Day War! That was cool.
I only had the day to spend, so I was on Amtrak by evening, hurrying back to home base. And not a moment too soon because I was in pain. To say that I have not walked so much in a while is an understatement, and today, I’m a wreck.
Thanks to a near-miss with COVID during the height of the lockdown period, my body is not what it used to be. Exercise is a thing of the past; even walking around for more than thirty minutes at a stretch pushes it. So imagine being on the go from 4 a.m. to 9 p.m., with stints sitting on trains, and you can imagine how I feel.
It’s no fun getting old, and it’s less fun when you take such a devastating blow to your health. I’d love to be one of those guys you see on TV, running strong at eighty and showing no sign of slowing down. However, I must resign to not being one of those guys. I’m me, and as with everything else about my life, I've had to come to terms with that.