Okay, so I’m not in perfect shape, but I didn’t realize just how out of shape I am until yesterday.
Preferably the truth would have stayed hidden from me, and I could blissfully skip along (in a shuffling sort of way) in total ignorance. However, I have a younger sister (by a mere 16 months) who practices a regular routine of torturous yoga, making her a bit more agile than yours truly.
This rude awakening about my physical limitations came to light when I mistakenly agreed to join my in-better-shape sibling and my brother-in-law in painting my fence. Yes, this is the wooden, privacy fence that stretches for miles and miles around my back yard.
Just how large is my backyard? Not so big when you eyeball it, but darn big when you are 30 minutes into painting it. Apparently the darn thing grows in length and breadth the longer you paint. It’s appalling when after 8 hours of backbreaking painting you discover you aren’t halfway finished! What was I thinking when I nodded in agreement to begin this job?
At the end of the first day, I decided the coat of primer will suffice for most of the fence, thus eliminating the need for a coat of paint. That may cut this painful project time, in what, a third? I’m wanting a shortcut that ends this cruelty NOW.
Thank goodness, it began to rain on the second day, which means we got a day off from bending, stretching, and scooting, thus giving me time to moan, groan, limp, and complain.
Did I mention this was not one of my better decisions? In fact, this is the result of poor judgement no doubt brought on by my almost 75 years of age. Wouldn’t you think by this age I would be smarter than to make rash agreements to participate in stupid and painful activities? Is this what happens when one reaches my age?
I remember thinking that when smart, bright and normal boys reach 13 years of age, they lose their minds. While still 12, they were delightful, but on their 13th birthday, they need to be locked in a closet until they are about 30.
Is that what has happened to me…I turn 75 and all reasoning stops. I lose my mind, making foolish decisions? I’ll attempt to hide these misguided actions so those who are charged with looking after me won’t find out that I too need to be locked in a closet for the next 15 years. Maybe that wouldn’t be too bad if they let me keep my laptop so I could send uplifting and encourages messages to those still painting my fence. We resume priming and painting tomorrow, and I’ll remember to take my share of pain medication and work at keeping my moans at a low volume. This will be hard on me, since today I’m one large ache.
So now that I know I’m not in the best of shape, I have the opportunity to begin a regime of exercising, or, more to my liking, just not agree to do any form of work in the future. I can supervise and run errands…that I’m good at, but not so good at painting fences.