Day Two-Hundred-Thirty, Decrepitude

My friend Shonna is an athlete.  She's an ungodly mess.  She's emotionally stable.  She's got a great family.  She lives in a beautiful home.  But after years of playing aggressive soccer she has trouble with her knees.  And her feet.  And God knows what else.  She gets cranky when she's hungry or tired.

It was a revelation to me.  I thought sports were good for you.  No, she says unequivocally.  They really tear you up. 

Of course.  I should have known.  It isn't really my world.  But had I stopped to think about it I could have figured it out.  I know an MMA fighter with a disfigured ear, a rugby player with a bad back.  A competetive shooter with hearing loss and a dancer with ugly feet.  There are all kinds of punchy boxers.  NFL players die young.  It raises the question: is what I'm doing good for me or not?

Everyone knows walking is healthy.  It is good to get out of doors.  I'd been certain that Walking Across America would add ten years to my life.  Provided I wasn't killed, of course.  I left room for that.  But I'm leaner than I was six months ago.  I expect I have lowered my heart rate.  My endurance is better; my legs are stronger.  You can crack walnuts on my ass. 

If you buy me dinner first.  My appetite is good.  I am calmer.  I am more at my ease.  I am better at making friends.  I sleep better.  I'm more regular.  I am taller by at least half an inch.  My feet have grown a size-and-a-half.  I can do pull-ups again.

Or I could until yesterday.  I've dislocated my shoulder.  Or threatened to.  I've got a bad hip.  My hair is turning grey.  My vision is fading.  I'm getting wrinkles.  I'm starting to look like my mom.  I've got pains in my feet that suggest broken bones.  I've got one unhappy knee.  I'm sore enough that only complete exhaustion lets me sleep at night.

I start every day with two aspirin.  Later I might take two more.  And as soon as I finish the bottle I'm going to buy something stronger.  My days off don't really seem to help.  I walk with something of a limp.  And very well might for the rest of my life.  I'll have fun explaining why.

I don't limp when I've got my backpack on.  Must be a psychological thing.  Today I walked twenty-five miles, split into two long hikes.  And it wasn't so bad.  I did get a bit bored, but the weather was fine.  Sometimes it's nice just to stare at the clouds.  They grow 'em pretty down here.

I stopped in Bronson, Florida for lunch.  I had a hamburger.  It's been a while; I had sworn them off but I was really hungry.  They do fill you up and do not cost much.  They did not have any pie.  So I didn't linger as long as I usually do.  I could have used more recharging.  But the nourishment did me good.  My shoulder hurt but my spirits were high.  I hiked the next dozen miles to Williston, only stopping once.

Briefly.  I wish I hadn't.  I wound up wounding myself.  They have cactus in Florida; I bet you didn't know that.  Flat little things.  They fascinated me.  I had to cut one open.  Just to see what they had inside.  You will never guess.

A billion little barbed fibres, nearly microscopic.  I got them all over my hands, my face, my neck, in my mouth.  They can't be removed.  It seems, given time, they do begin to dissolve.  Until then all I can do is suffer.  They are rather uncomfortable.  Marie Curie died of radiation poisoning.  Sometimes science is hard.

I stopped briefly in Williston, to eat a bit and recharge.  But I couldn't stay long.  It was almost five.  I had to leave town before dark.  Or get stuck indoors.  I cannot afford that and it always breaks my stride.  As it was I had plenty of time.  I could have walked two more miles.

But I had my campsite all picked out.  I found it last night.  Using Google Earth, a wonderful tool.  Every modern hobo should have it.

It is meant to be cold tonight.  I'm not feeling it yet.  It is raining some but I don't care.  It is going to be colder tomorrow.  And colder still the night after that, somewhere down below freezing.  But I don't care; I've got teddy bear pants, and a song in my heart.

MY INJURED shoulder not only makes it very hard to adjust my pack, it prevents me from flashing my peace sign at passing trucks.  I hope they don't think I'm stuck up.

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