Adaptive Curmudgeon

The Curmudgeon Lives A Country Music Song: Part 2

Day #2 started on a high note. Already weary of body but in high spirits I marveled at the warm morning (+10 degrees!). The truck was so much easier to warm up and I sipped coffee while basking in the heat during my drive in.

At the workout I was comporting myself well enough given my age and physique but had to miss the last few minutes of the session. One of the fellas in our group turned pale and scampered off; presumably to die in some corner. We’ve all been there.

I was dispatched to ride herd on him and make sure he didn’t stroke out alone in the locker room. This is just good safety protocol and I agree with the sentiment. I sat 10 feet away trying not to breathe any germs while he hurled in the can and apologized for interrupting my workout. (This is something men do, they apologize for having physical limits.) Apparently, he’d picked up a “bug” somewhere and just couldn’t work though it. I assured him that there’s no shame in tapping out provided you’ve given your all. Besides, we were unanimously happy he barfed in the can and not on the floor. I meant it too, there’s no shame if you don’t make it across the finish line provided you tried to your limit.

After session #3 I went back to the grind and already I hurt everywhere. Three workouts in just over 24 hours had me on a diet of aspirin and coffee. (No surprise there.)

The predicted blizzard hit solidly and soon I was out there freezing my balls off trying to plow the driveway with our decrepit 20-year-old ATV. Stressors were building up during a time when I wanted to focus on just one thing! Was it about then that I heard the opening strings of a country music song? You know how those songs go; your tractor breaks, your dog dies, and you drown your sorrows in lite beer… something like that.

I barely cleared the driveway but failed to clear the parking area. The ATV died. Kaput. Done. It was dead as the Monty Python parrot. I had no time to mourn it. I pushed it into the garage and warmed up my truck to rush to session #4.

Meanwhile Mrs. Curmudgeon arrived home. She was looking a bit green around the gills. She works in an office and it’s a law of nature that office workers coddle their cold germs like treasured pets and lovingly set them loose in the nearest workspace. (Schools do the same with kids.) As with the dude in the morning, I refrained from getting too close to her. I hopped in my truck and fled.

Workout #4 was great. The morning guy was nowhere to be found, which was to be expected. I wished him luck and thanked the stars I wasn’t dealing with a “bug”. In fact, I was doing pretty well! I felt like a stud. How awesome is that?

Then it happened. While driving home something flipped a switch somewhere in my body and everything went pear shaped. I was hit with illness like a runaway train. Very sudden. Oddly fast. The full Ebola. I have no idea why. I’d avoided the morning guy and my wife but by the time I got home I was in trouble.

Four workouts in just over 36 hours and I was beat. More aspirin and sleep. My sudden illness and ominous sore throat were worrisome. Maybe I’d sleep it off?

The alarm went off again the following morning at dark thirty and there was naught for it. I was somewhere between very ill and slightly dead.

I turned the clock off and stayed in bed. I’d been looking forward to my workout challenge all year and crapped out far too soon. Damn it!

But wait… there’s more. Stay tuned.

Exit mobile version