evidently, i have reached the age where muscle memory has been replaced by the decadance of sit-on-my-ass atrophy.
the excitement of winter and groomed trails is not as pressing today as the fact i can barely walk; that my groin muscles feel like they have been shrink wrapped.
there’s good pain and there’s get-into-ski-shape pain. it only hurts when i move.
so, i choose not to move.
the existential north woods paradigm.
if only i had dish.
yesterday’s ski was measured and conservative. it had to be. my inactivity the past few months, save for frequent jaunts to the nets to extract saw-whets, means the elan of youth takes a back seat to a cautious, pragmatic approach to exercise. i want to be able to
move ski in a week and so, my once-eager muscles will be baby-stepped back to the podium of athletic mediocrity.
yesterday’s ski occurred during a lazy snowfall, on wind-blown tracks.
it was beautiful. an aesthetic, nordic, lathered, wintertime indulgence.
meanwhile, the golden child will be gracing the north shore in a couple of weeks. i would assume his verbal repertoire has improved since the august retort to his charming, patient, ebullient father that sounded something like this…”fuck off dad.”
it’s time to ski.