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evidently, i have reached the age where muscle memory has been replaced by the decadance of sit-on-my-ass atrophy.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

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About borealbilly

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

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