my muscles forgot what i was going to say

evidently, i have reached the age where muscle memory has been replaced by the decadance of sit-on-my-ass atrophy.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.

more lather.


About borealbilly

i am cursed by nocturnal self-awareness. View all posts by borealbilly

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