It’s after 8 am on a beautiful May morning. The sun is shining over the 10th green across the small pond from my back deck. The day promises to be one of those days perfect for golf. With a temperature in the mid-70s, low humidity, and dry conditions, I can almost envision myself on the course. Of course, that’s the rub. I can ALMOST see myself on the golf course. The truth is that between my body aches and my continued tiredness, I can think of nothing harder than to put my clubs in the car and drive less than a mile to the course and then subject myself to the torture of trying to get my body to work in any way, shape, or fashion. Yep, it’s 2023 and I am now officially old.
Becoming old shouldn’t be a surprise to me. I will be 67 in a few days. I have multiple health issues. And I survived COVID once and multiple other illnesses over the last two years. Yet until this year, I could at least pretend to keep up with my 2 and 4-year-old grandchildren. I could get out and work on various projects around the house and only require every other day breaks to keep going. I could even walk about a mile before becoming tired.
None of that is true anymore. As my wife and I were reflecting on becoming old, we came to one conclusion. We have aged a decade in the last year. The aches are more often – let’s just say constantly. The recovery time from everything is longer – let’s just say forever. The desire to suffer this all in the hope of getting some relief? Well, let’s just say, I’m looking at the golf course again and considering the options. Just maybe one more go at it to see if this body has at least nine holes in a cart left in its tank. Who knows if I survive it, I just might have some fun.
Yep, 2023, the year I turned old.