Have you ever had one of those days where your mind tells you you’re still twenty-five but your body knows otherwise? I had one of those days recently and am still paying for it.
Last Tuesday after work, I decided that I needed to get some exercise. My usual routine is to walk anywhere from two to five miles at a fast pace. That generally does the trick but it can take a long time. Now, time is not my friend these days so have, of and on, looked around for a more efficient use of my exercise time. In my Army days, I ran three to five days a week and was in real good shape throughout my entire time in uniform.
On this particular Tuesday evening, the little guy in my head reminded me of my Army years and, gosh, we sure were in good shape back then. He allowed that we were a few years older now and we haven’t run in a very long time. Maybe, the first time out, we would do well to run for a minute and walk for a minute. I thought that a fine idea and we agreed to this plan of action. Furthermore, we would limit ourselves to a two mile run. Yes, this would be a good plan of attack.
It was a pleasant evening for a run to the park and back. I sensed that I would be back in fighting trim in no time. I finished up the two miles just as I planned. Well, I did not run the last four or five minutes. No need to rush these things, the little guy in my head cautioned.
The next morning, my left knee was in the early stage of rebellion. No matter what I asked it to do, it complained and ached. Ok, I thought, I’ll just take a pill and it will go away and that’s just what I did. Four hours later, my knee was in full revolt. It had fought off the pain pill I had taken and was now exacting its revenge on mefor the savage treatment I had subjected it to the day prior. I tried a soothing ointment known to treat obstinate body parts. My knee threw off that ministration and continued its torment. Ice was applied. It too was cast off as useless. I went to bed with my now throbbing and swollen knee wondering if it would climb down from its painful ways during the night.
Things were actually worse the second morning after my run. I walked very much like Festus from Gunsmoke fame. Nothing I did brought any relief to my knee as it upped its plan of vengeance against me for my callous mistreatment. It was not until Sunday that my knee felt it had exacted enough revenge on me and calmed down. It was about that time that the little guy in my head advanced the opinion that we could probably go on a run again.
I think not.