Feet of Clay

My legs feel like two strands of boiled linguini. Every little motion results in a tremor down my limbs. Why could I have not seen through my earlier passion of playing on the Senior PGA Tour. My only regret the day after would’ve been not yelling “Fore” as my ball narrowly missed a well-heeled patron.

Anyhoot, running is my new thang, and my toes are glaring up at me, shouting ‘You’ve gotta create some separation from the dessert cart if we’re going to make this work.” My mind’s listening but my heart doesn’t hear a word.

What I’ve gotta figure it out is how to keep these dang calves from locking up. Everything else seems like it’ll grow into the new routine. My calves not so much!!