I is Old

I don’t have one of those cute cat pictures from wherever those cute cat pictures come from to illustrate my subject line. I’m sure there is one out there for “I is Old” in the land of hilarious cats with subject-verb disagreement line tags. I’m just way too lazy to look one up. So, deal with this instead:

Should you accessorize this with a watch?

For whatever reason, every January and February I become seasonally old. The other months of the year I feel exactly my age. After the new year turns however, I start limping around and groaning with every knee bend and finger twitch. The aches and pains just don’t go away. Every morning, my finger joints are sore. No kidding. I haven’t had sore finger joints since I was thirteen and Madonna released a new video. (ba dum dum) My knees are tender. My shoulder is still strained from a stretchy band related accident 6 weeks ago. Kids are listening to entirely inappropriate music these days. And why are their pants hanging so low? And who ate my oat bran? And what time is Murder, She Wrote on?

This would be a good time to make a classless Alzheimer’s joke too. But, I won’t. Instead, I’ll ask a simple question: How many of you know someone who calls Alzheimer’s disease “Old Timers”? Seriously, is it so hard to get the disease name right that it has to be twisted to a like sounding, stereotypical slang? My boss giggles and says “Oops, I forgot about that….must have Old Timers” about once every meeting. To which, I roll my eyes, press my finger on the mute and mock her by saying "It’s Alzheimer’s, dumbass" and thank Wilford Brimley that she’s several states away. And my mute button works.

Anyhow, I forgot what I was going to say. I have a vague recollection but can’t quite remember…

So what’s with the seasonal old disorder? Or S.O.D.* Do any of you experience this phenomenon? Maybe it’s unique to us cold weather states. I wake up and just about every joint I use for exercise (and some I don’t….huh?huh? is this thing on? rimshot please) is achy and/or swollen. Since my office is in my basement, two painful, limping, stair rail propping descents of the staircase are in order before I can begin my day. I take a deep breath and look at those stairs like my grandparents must have looked at my low riding car when I came to take them to the bank to sign over their social security checks. Like, there’s no way I’m coming back from down there. (Or getting those groceries he promised.)

As the day wears on, the joints loosen up and my S.O.D. retreats. Usually, by the fifth hilarious one-liner from Will Smith at Carlton’s expense, I’m feeling pretty spry and I can ascend one flight back up to the break room** for some coffee with minimal groaning and only partial rail leaning. In fact, by evening, I feel 38 again. But the next day, I again wake up geriatric and increasingly bitter. It’s like Groundhog Day but Mrs. Nitmos is way better looking than Andie McDowell.

Maybe it’s the cold weather. My body is telling me to take a break during winter. But I’m telling it that I want to get a jump start on this coming May’s marathon so it will run on those frozen over sidewalks and do the slippy dance across those ice patches. It will stretchy band and crunch away every evening. I missed out on registering for Boston 2010 but I will not miss out on Boston 2011. If my nemesis can run with replaced knees, I can certainly run through S.O.D. It will not beat this fella.

There’s six weeks to go until the end of the cold and S.O.D. calendar here in my part of the world. Approximately 20-25 runs. Approximately 25-30 doses of Biofreeze. About 50 Advils. And another 36+ servings of bifidus regularis in my morning yogurt. Magically, as the temperature climbs, I’ll again return to my normal physical age. Mentally, of course, I’ll still be the sophomoric, vulgar blogger more appropriate for someone half my age and without kids. But, mind you, I do the judging around here and not you.

March will free me from my S.O.D. so I can pursue, pain-fee, my Y.A.K. during this YotA! WTF? LOL, that’s a lot of acronyms. Now, it’s time to end this post and push Publish and ascend the stairs, slowly and painfully, like a man in his 60’s. Its times like these that I ask, what would Brimley do? WWBD?

He’d enjoy his morning BM.

And I will too.

Once I get up these blasted stairs. Brimley help me, that’s a long ways to go…Never mind. Too late.

Hon, I need my "accident towel" down here. /shouts up stairs

Happy trails.

*Yes, 2010 with be the year of the acronym! Or YotA, for short.
** kitchen
_________________________________

This Week In Running (TWIR) notes:

5 miles, 6.5 miles, 10.1 miles and 5 miles again all outside, no Yaktrax! But no speed intervals either. So sad.

_________________________________

A few of you inquired if that was really Dick Beardsley that commented on my last post. I have no way of knowing for sure. I'll let you know when I receive the lawsuit as I believe each incidence of slander would be itemized. In the meantime, I'm preparing as I just finished reading Duel in the Sun and I'm currently into Staying The Course: A Runner's Toughest Race. Know thy enemy.