I was in halfway almost decent borderline passable shape back in my late twenties to mid thirties. Then, two entirely opposite yet equally painful injuries happened: first, I badly sprained my right ankle. Then, I badly sprained my left ankle.
I cancelled my gym membership, as it’s difficult to get to the gym when you can’t get around without having to hop on the leg that hurts the least that day (and will hurt the most the next day, since you just spent the previous day hopping on it).
Now at age 39, the ankles have healed, and I’ve traded the gym – along with all its germs, attitude, monthly fees, and other unpleasantness – for an exercise bike and free weights. It’s my aim, by the time I hit 40, to once again be back in the kind of shape that could be called “adequate” or not “entirely embarrassing.”
There’s two problems with this – the first is that I currently look like Grissom; some might take that as a compliment, but he’s almost sixty in this picture. People don’t realize that when they stop me and say, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Grissom?”, they’re actually asking me if I realize I look sixty. But a few years/pounds ago, I never received any actor comparisons. I’m not sure, but for whatever reason I might miss getting the Grissom question.
The second problem, and point of this post, is that the quickest way to experience the universe’s sense of humour first-hand is to make plans.
You know when you hear about someone being eaten by a shark? Wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t planned on not being eaten by a shark. You know who never gets eaten by a shark? Someone who entertains the possibility, without committing either way; you never hear about them getting eaten.
Done in Inkscape, prepped in Krita, Kyle Murphy 2016