No running for me, not for a while now. I pulled something or twisted something or some such frustrating crap. Getting old isn't for sissies or pussies or anyfuckingbody. Where is the dignity in aging if I can't even trot around a footpath for couple of miles without my body choosing to attack me like a mugger hiding in the bushes?
So now I must walk at a staid (age appropriate?) pace. Oh. Hell. No. I will keep at this if it kills me, if I have to replace knees and hips and whatever else craps out on me.
Do no go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the running...
