My legs are sore from treadmill work. I feel like this is getting the best of me. Running times for me is a little depressing. The pace I want to hold is quite taxing. OK, too old, washed up and done. So back off and quit. But I'm not thinking that. In fact, I'm sort of angry about it. Right now, I don't want to quit. I want to bury myself in workouts and drive the demons from my athletic life.
I saw a man today that I have known a long time. We are the same age. He was so spindly and emaciated that I barely recognized him. It made me want to try harder not to go there, to spend my last remaining days among the walking wounded. I want to live until I die so I stay away from doctors and medications as much as I can. I eat a plant-based diet. I do some sort of exercise every day. Plus, I try to focus on not going down that well-trod mental path for old guys, following the script written by others of what old men should be trying to do. And I pray to God to give me strength. I pray and looked toward His peace with it all. That said it's time to get busy and finish the rest of the day's training. I must go on. Something may be gaining on me.
No comments:
Post a Comment