Saturday, March 25, 2023

Or, any other metaphorical cliche

After coming home from the mountains concussed, I twisted my ankle this morning stepping on a tennis ball. The boy and I went to play a little light Saturday morning tennis at the local public courts and while chasing one ball I stepped on another. There was no joy in Mudville. Etc. I went down suddenly and without ease to the asphalt, curling up in a fetal position, unable to walk to the car without limping and complaining, barely able to drive home.

Don't worry, Saturday is not over. I could suffer much more before sunset. At least 23 fewer pounds stepped on the ball than would have a couple months ago. I have been trying to lose 10 pounds a month and have been successful until this month. I hit some sort of plateau on the way down to my idealized weight (~200 or below). What? I'm a stocky guy. 

There comes a time, and it will be soon, when the body won't recover from twisted ankles and knees any longer. My body feels stiff and brittle, much more likely to break than bend. CS reminds me that the end is most often getting nearer. I write this with a mixture of the humor that has sometimes saved people like he and I as well as the sad recognition of its truth. 

I have an ice-pack on the ankle but it refuses to sit correctly on the back, outer portion of the ankle that is in the most pain. I'm too lazy and unmotivated to get up and take something to reduce the inflammation. I am resigned to the fate of suffering, I suppose. 

I would go into more detail, though I do not wish to squander my suffering further today. I want to milk it instead.