Posted on April 10, 2006
Been doing some of that cross-training thing. Trying not so much to turn back the hands of time as slow them down, just a little. Running, cycling, swimming and a little bit of weights thrown in for good measure. It’s been working, too.
Three weeks ago I went back to my collegiate roots, found a local fencing club, hit the piste.
Starting to, you know: Regret it.
Turns out that a couple three generations of younger fencers have come up since last I was at the nationals. Some of them quite good. Some of them right here in Sandy Eggo. And the first week I was reminded of leg muscles that you don’t use for anything else, except for fencing. Vividly reminded. And then last week I got back spasms trying to keep from falling after 25-year old synapses wrote a check 45-year old legs are apparently unable to cash. That was with me all week.
This growing old gig? It’s not for sissies.
But tonight? Tonight was the worst yet.
Because just for the record? A sabre cut to the wedding tackle is this whole other class of pain.