Reality Bites

The body of a 25 year old lives in my mind. I know that is delusional but I think it is a belief held by a majority of American males of a certain age. It gets me in trouble occasionally; on a 35 mile bike ride or trying to stand up after kneeling on a cold garage floor. 

Daily, I experience poignant moments that belie my illusions and are likely wake up calls from the Almighty.  

Reality bites. A proper english sentence, subject & verb.

When I walk up to an intersection and the light turns to "Don't Walk" and there are 18 seconds on the clock, I get the urge to jog. As I near the opposite curb, I wonder if my knees will fail me.  Not 25

Each day I read aloud the name of each deceased in the Star Tribune obituary section. I know, it's weird. But why do families post obits? Because they loved and they want the world to acknowledge their loved one's existence. So I dedicate a second of my time in their honor. When I encounter someone of my own age, I read it. Not 25. Besides, some of the world's greatest fiction is published in the obit columns.

I turn my entire upper torso to look left or right. The reason being is my range of motion in my neck is about 30°.  Arthritis. It can make negotiating intersections or checking the rear-view-mirror somewhat painful. And all this twisting is hard on my back. Not 25.

Speaking of my back, we got 16" of snow the other day and after the plow went by the banks at the bottom of the drive were 3' high, which I dug out. Happily, my neighbor with a mega-snow blower came to my rescue. Not 25.

I like to watch Jeopardy. It's quick recall challenge. I used to be better at it. I have convinced myself that's because the categories are more contemporary and pop-culture oriented. I draw a blank at those clues. Not 25. Try me on baseball or the Civil War and I rock.

Speaking of pop culture, the local paper has a daily feature of highlighting 6 famous birthdays . I'm happy if I recognize half the names and I'm frequently skunked.  Not 25.

I occasionally play catch (baseball) with the neighbor boy. He's 10.  My comfortable 90' throws are a distant memory. 20' is about my limit and break out the Bengay.  When I get invited to throw out the first pitch at a Twins game, I fear I will produce an embarrassing YouTube video. Not 25.

Aches and Pains. Carpometacarpal (CMC) Joint. Periformis Syndrome. Plantar Fasciitis. And long bike rides invariably lead to wicked evening leg cramps. My wife giggles behind my back at my writhing agony, unable to stand, punishment for sins of omission. Not 25.

My music tastes tend toward Peter, Paul & Mary, Simon & Garfunkel, Bob Dylan, Bonnie Raitt and college choirs. You get the picture. Not 25.

I've never been good at names but when it takes several seconds to come up with your neighbor's last name, the fear of old-timers disease creeps. Considered that ginkgo supplement, but chose to stick with caffeine as my brain altering drug of choice. I can recite the entire Twins lineup from 1965, but can't recall the name of this year's manager. Not 25.

I like to go over to the park and shoot baskets for the exercise and fun. My vertical is now about 2".  And usually, when I release my devastating jump shot, my toes are touching the court surface.  Not 25.

I start thinking about supper at 4:30 and start yawning at 9:00.  Not 25.

We have grandkids in college. Do the math. Not 25.

And then, of course, there is the mirror on the wall. Not 25.

Copyright ©  2021  Dave Hoplin