Well, if you are reading this, I must still be alive.
Careful readers might argue that I am prone to exaggeration, but yesterday I nearly bought the farm. Exercising.
I’ve lost 15 pounds since I started running with our mini-Dachshund. We run every time I take her out to answer nature’s call. There I go – exaggerating again. What I do could not be called running. More like loping. You know, that funny get-along like the dog trainers do at the Westminister AKC shows.
We lope about 50 yards three times a day. I was beginning to feel 54 rather than 74 and got cocky about the return of my athletic abilities.
Revenge is more like it.
Yesterday, as we loped down the middle of the drive, a car came around the blind side of a poorly-planned curve. The dog zigged as I tried to zag.
Nothing worked right. As I cartwheeled out of control through the parking lot, the possibilities were not good. I worried about releasing the dog, busting my hip on the pavement or busting my head on the curb. Or, alternatively, just getting run over.
I longed for flight. Instead, I lurched like a toddler. Or like when I was younger and drunker.
Somehow, I fell to earth with nothing broken. Not even any serious bruises. But enough dirt and grass stains on my back to do the NFL proud. My pride was the only thing hurt.
Upon hearing my lament, the Mystery Woman began searching for the video camera. She said if I would do it again, she’s sure she could get it on America’s Funniest Videos.
Or Geezers Gone Wild.