When I was at school I was an athlete. Seriously. I rowed. I played football. I ran – everywhere!
I’d finish a laps of the oval so far ahead of my team mates my coach would make me do another one.
So I do wonder what is going on with me lately.
At work on Monday I tripped up a step and effectively face planted into the carpet: my arms stopped when my hands hit the ground but my torso ploughed straight into the floor. Oddly, my stomach, which I thought should have buffered me from most of the impact, appears to have done nothing to help at all. I may as well get rid of it.
Naturally, all the staff raced to help me up. Or they would have if their bodies hadn’t been contorted in laughter.
I would have been embarrassed, only I was in too much pain – my shoulder has come out of the experience feeling very sorry for itself. It’s especially vocal around 5 in the morning, when the drugs wear off.
“You are quite the athlete,” one of my colleagues told me as I downed every non-prescription painkiller I could get my hands on to try quell the pain.
“It’s a sports injury,” I’ve tried to tell my customers.
The girls at work aren’t buying this but, as I’ve explained, I kind of landed in the push-up position.
I can remember a time when I would have done better. I mean, there was never a time I wouldn’t have tripped on that step ,which I navigate up to 100 times a day, but I would have done a quick set of ten push-ups so it looked like I was down there on purpose.
But not anymore.
“I’m falling apart,” I told Tracey. “I swear I’m littering the footpaths at lunchtime with body parts. I used to run up mountains and now I can’t manage to walk up stairs.”
But Tracey isn’t worried. She handles getting old a lot better than me.
“You don’t need to run anymore,” she assured me. “I’ll let you catch me.”
She’s the best coach I’ve ever had.
When not typing away over here and checking his stats every two minutes Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his ‘BIG FAMILY little income’ Facebook Page.
’raising a family on little more than laughs’