So, I can no longer deny it. Facts are facts. The I an’ I getting ol’. 
Back in the day, I could wake up in the wee hours of the morning, run five miles; scale two mountains; play 5 sets of volleyball, then get up and party ‘til the wee hours of the morning. I would wake up, and repeat the process the next day.
Now, I can’t even walk up a flight of stairs without abject pain.
Back in the day, I was the life of the party, ‘bumping and grin’in’’ with the best of them, wining down and touchin’ my toes, and singing that ol refrain, “no, no I ain’t goin’ home”.
Now, it hurts when I jump and wave, and I can’t bend down. Oh for the dear ol’ chippin’ Calypso songs! Where are they? Machel, I love you, but I can’t keep up!!
Back in the day, I could lime and hang out wit the best of them, lolling about on a sidewalk, eating jerk chicken after a fete, talking crap till the wee hours, sleeping for two hours, go to work semi-drunk, then run my five miles and scale my mountain after work.
Now, jerk chicken gives me heartburn.
Lawd.
Now, the music that constantly resounds in my ear is the sound of my knees cracking as I walk. A trip to the gym is completed with a screw face, cuz the ol’ body jus’ tiyad. The thought of running automatically make my arthritic knees swell, when the ol’ brain communicates the possibility to the joints.
I have stared to play indoor five a side football with a women’s team (Lady Lions: Roar!!), and my preparation for each game is threefold:
1) Rub down the ol’ knees with Tiger Balm .
2) Pop two pain killers before the game, because the ol’ joints will need them.
3) Trusty ice pack on hand for icing the ol’ knees after the game, as swelling is inevitable.
I walk around my office like a geriatric, and the thought of bending for a file or getting up from my chair are all carefully thought out before hand. No more spontaneous movement for me!
Back in the day, I could wake up in the wee hours of the morning, run five miles; scale two mountains; play 5 sets of volleyball, then get up and party ‘til the wee hours of the morning. I would wake up, and repeat the process the next day.
Now, I can’t even walk up a flight of stairs without abject pain.
Back in the day, I was the life of the party, ‘bumping and grin’in’’ with the best of them, wining down and touchin’ my toes, and singing that ol refrain, “no, no I ain’t goin’ home”.
Now, it hurts when I jump and wave, and I can’t bend down. Oh for the dear ol’ chippin’ Calypso songs! Where are they? Machel, I love you, but I can’t keep up!!
Back in the day, I could lime and hang out wit the best of them, lolling about on a sidewalk, eating jerk chicken after a fete, talking crap till the wee hours, sleeping for two hours, go to work semi-drunk, then run my five miles and scale my mountain after work.
Now, jerk chicken gives me heartburn.
Lawd.Now, the music that constantly resounds in my ear is the sound of my knees cracking as I walk. A trip to the gym is completed with a screw face, cuz the ol’ body jus’ tiyad. The thought of running automatically make my arthritic knees swell, when the ol’ brain communicates the possibility to the joints.
I have stared to play indoor five a side football with a women’s team (Lady Lions: Roar!!), and my preparation for each game is threefold:
1) Rub down the ol’ knees with Tiger Balm .
2) Pop two pain killers before the game, because the ol’ joints will need them.
3) Trusty ice pack on hand for icing the ol’ knees after the game, as swelling is inevitable.
I walk around my office like a geriatric, and the thought of bending for a file or getting up from my chair are all carefully thought out before hand. No more spontaneous movement for me!
The elevator is my friend. I am yawning by 9:00PM. The ol’ back aches, and I cannot understand that Rap stuff or the hard core reggae that has taken over the air waves. In terms of the new dances, I can still do the Bogle. The Butterfly is out because it hurts my knees. I do not know the ‘raindrop’ the ‘car-crash’, the ‘eye-blink’ the ‘fart’ or any of the other Post-Bogle dances that have now invaded our pop culture. Lawd.
Did I mention that Tiger Balm is now my friend? Forget products such as Icy Hot and Bio Freeze, and get back to the rootsy side with good ol’ Tiger Balm . When I feel and ache coming on from the change of weather, I pick up my trusty Tiger Balm, and burn the ache out. My new scent is ‘Eau de Tiger Balm’. Forget the expensive perfumes, and know that Tiger Balm will be the new Dior. I could do a commercial for Tiger Balm. When that sucker is rubbed in, you can feel the burn all the way to the marrow, and live to fight another day.
Lawd. Sigh. Back in the day.
I find it easier to confess my newfound revelation, as I have heard similar laments from my peers, when we hole up in a corner and reflect. Please note that said reflection is not as profound without a beer in hand . I am not alone.
But, despite the cracking swollen knees, the aching back and the geriatric smell of Tiger Balm I will continue to fight the good fight and endeavor to start a new movement!!! I will strive to make my thirties the new twenties!! Cracking knees will be ‘cool’, and will be showcased at Talent Competitions! Young nubile individuals will envy my cracking knees, and the sweet rhythms resounding from them as I chip along my merry way, beer bottle in hand! I come equipped with my own percussion band!!
I will continue with my Eau de Tiger Balm, and will inevitably make this scent the new Channel No. 5! The only way to beat them is to program them! I will not go down without a fight!
Viva La Revolution!!!
On that note, I shall now exit.
'Ta
'Fro
2 comments:
Bwoy, I really feel you on this one...
lol, I likee.
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