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Here I sit

Broken (old) farted

Tried too do too much

And now I am sitting on the couch trying to think of a word that rhymes with “farted”

The ideal weekend for me is to do so much, pack enough action into two days, that I find myself sitting on the couch with an ice pack on one or more sore body parts and telling myself over and over again “Oh man does this hurt so good”.  Tonight, dear friends, I have achieved old man-tra.  I am on the couch, ice bag on my left foot, wondering which muscle is going to spasm uncontrollably into a ball.  My money is on my right calf, although the left hamstring is a good bet also.

A golf ball.

A golf ball. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today I made the social rounds of my neighborhood, jumping on my bicycle with the intention of finding Nate, instead finding four neighbors instead.  I am a talker, a characteristic both loves and hates.  The kids used to drag me out of church, hoping I wouldn’t find someone to talk to.  They understand me a bit more now, but there are times they still dread taking me out into public.  ANY HOOOOOO, I made the rounds of the neighborhood, one stop being to say hello to Sean, my neighbor across the street, a young man with two little tykes who I get a chance to talk to rarely.  He waved me over as I pedaled by.

And we yacked for a good half hour.  As we yacked, I noticed he had a nice set of golf clubs sitting in his garage.

“You play?”

“Oh yeah, but with the kids and my job I rarely get to play any more.”  He paused for a moment.  “I see you and Nate loading up the clubs in your car quite a bit.”

“Yeah, I have been playing quite a bit since Nate got interested in the game.”  And I told him about some of the good deals on golf Nate and I had discovered in our quest for golf.

“What are you doing this afternoon?  I need to play.”

Hmmmmm.  I had to think about that offer for a minute.  I played 18 holes last night, walking the course for the first time this golf season, using carts up to this point due to the healing of my surgically repaired left foot.  Mir probably wouldn’t mind (and she didn’t).  I had found a course close by that had a cheap and early twilight rate.  The thing was that I hadn’t been on my bicycle since Thursday, wanted to get an off road ride in this afternoon because there was rain forecasted for this evening.  The trails may not be rideable for a few days.

“Sure.  How about around 5:00?  I want to get a ride in this afternoon, but I should be back in time to play.”

“You walk the course?”

“Of course.”

And we were set.  Mir was cool with it, liked the idea of me spending some time with our neighbor.

Trouble was that the ride was fantastic, so fantastic that I lost track of time.  I left at one in the afternoon, looked in the clock when I pulled into my driveway.  Five.  Oops.

I walked across the street, knocked on Sean’s front door.  Angie, his wife, answered and said that Sean had left a few minutes ago.  He was really looking forward to playing golf.

Oh crepe.

“Give him a call, tell him I will be there in a few minutes.”

I hustled home, changed out of my sweaty bike clothes, whipped on my golf schtuff.  Zipped to the course to find an anxiously waiting Sean at the first tee.

Dang best time I have had playing golf in ages.  We walked 14 holes and played until dark.  Talked like two old hens.  The guy could be my younger twin.  We left with the understanding that this should be an every Sunday night gig.


But boy Is my body wondering what I did to it.  I love the tired, satisfied feeling that activity gives to me.  Ahhhhhhh.  Thank goodness for ice packs.

Until next time.