My left ankle looks like it belongs to an injured PBA player; now cleanly-wrapped in elastic bandage, and smells of liniment oil, except I’m no basketballista, and of PBA standards at that. If you have ever seen sprained thoroughbreds with their thin leg wrapped so by dedicated handlers, mine looks like that too, except I am not a horse either, and much less belonging to that distinguished racing breed. Just getting old, I guess, and getting way too heavy these legs are slowly giving out on me (or more like caving in).
It’s such an embarrassment when someone has to do the wrapping for you as you lay helplessly in bed, and endure a nightly diatribe of “you’re getting old”, or “too fat”, and “start eat healthy”, but the persevering wifey and myself kinda laugh through it all, as I always affirm (with the twinkling eyes of the imp within) that, “yes guilty, to all of the above, sue me”.
Such is the life for someone in Ringo’s famous song, but who ever said anything about giving up? I’m sure in a few days, things will be back to normal, and in no time, I will hopefully be canceling out that “too fat” needling by finally getting some exercise, and then starting to “eat healthy”. The remaining “too old” tag though, I still have to figure out.
These legs have surely seen better days I know. They used to be spry, and able to shift easily as I ran and slid through the clay courts of Magallanes and Lanang tennis clubs, but they are all memories now. For years, I have put off re-stringing my rackets (as incentives for playing again), because whenever I came to in the end, I always dreaded that my legs and knees might not take all that side to side running. I only watch tennis on my phone now. But still, hope springs eternal.
I read somewhere that science capabilities in five years will be able to avail everyone of cheap springy legs, along with exo-skeletons for the old. That may be too extreme, but who knows, I might take up on the offer. Like my legs, the accumulated trainers in my shoe rack needs their day in the sun too.
