Regarding the fitness craze: America has lost its soul; now it’s trying to save its body. ― George Carlin
The old man was exhausted. Early is squirrelly. Forced to move up his run an hour or so, due to a happily rare doctor’s visit.
The old man’s routine was his armor.
If he could just keep his daily life on some sort of schedule, a routine which keeps stuff regular, he might be, as one Kiwanis Club evaluation suggested….. “a highly functioning old fuck.”
His normal doctor is having a baby. New guy looks like a weird scientist with expensive tan loafers and no socks.
Somehow comforting.
Blood results are in. He has some.
Doctor says he’s gonna live. Can’t say for how long.
Deadly problem no worse. Think plateau.
How about high mesa? No, plateau.
The pain? Oh, nothing really can be done.
It. Will. Just. Get. Worse.
Can I have a mint with that? Exercise and plenty of fluids.
Cut to the chase, it’s official, you can’t live forever.
The old man did what he always did. He listened carefully.
He was gracious and grateful and determined to figure out some way to make all this more fun.
A sexy companion was his first thought.
Biking and hiking and otherwise getting sweaty together.
Probably not covered by Medicare.
The young redhead retiring in a week. Hey. Idea emoticon goes here. Love it when a plan comes together. But. But. But.
A change in routine dawns.
The old man asked her to, please, be gentle.
He worried.
She’d been kicked off her church bowling team for safety reasons.