Age is catching up with me. Advice please.
Discussion
School sports day; the eagerly await clash of Titans - The Dad’s race. TBH my pre-race preparation hasn’t been good, on the booze and fags, Xbox, guitar, few late nights and generally being comfortable in my living, happy in my relaxed degenerative state.
I notice on the start line that I am not as well prepped as some of the other Dad’s who have turned up in shorts and trainers. I’m sure some of the dudes at the end have running spikes, the cheeky f
kers. My leather shoes with no grips, suit trousers with nice crease, a double-cuff long sleeve shirt mean I am behind many in the sports-equipment stakes. I have the foresight to loose as much weight as I can, remove the phone and keys, from the pockets, I even take the sunglasses off and hand all to Mrs Pier who nervously is waiting for the resulting carnage. I roll my sleeves up because I mean business. 'Should I take my shoes and socks off, Zola Budd style?' I think to myself. 'Nope you'd look like a right tt and would tread on something sharp', I reply.
It is hot; the sun is burning down, perfect sprinting weather. There is a big crowd to the right baying hordes of women, some laughing at the spectacle of a large group of larger men limbering up. Many wives looking a little worried, they have been here before, others appear not at all happy that their partner is either not there to compete or is there but chooses not to (If they had white feathers they would be used I am sure). On the left is a huge bank of children huge expectant grins of their faces, this is a real circus, and here come the clowns - in the crowd are the five year old eyes of the Shortest Pier of my Clan who I must not let down.
It goes quiet, 35 guys in the same boat as me (apart from the ones, let’s call them cheats, who turned up with the gear). The friendliness is there, we're all in this together but so is the tension, you can feel it.
The Teacher uses the official “Ready, Steady, Go”, there is no better way to start the race I think, the flag drops on "go" and my god we’re off. I get purchase, I am into my stride quickly, I’m doing well, and the old speed is there. The noise we chaps make hammering along the grass track must be like wildebeest across the African plains. It probably looks about as sexy too. It gets nasty, a couple of Dad’s are falling over, skidding on their paunches, the crowd "ooohing" at the terrifying spectacle, these fallers are a grassy mess of embarrassment, other slower guys are hurdling them - I am not those men, I am young, I have the speed, like I always used to. It feels good; I am going to win (maybe).
My son will be proud of me.
I open up, lifting the knees, pumping the arms; lunchbox swinging in the confines, this is Chariots of Fire, Rocky Rocky Rocky - nothing can stop me. Nothing at all.
<SNAP>
“AAAAHH ffuummmppfftt!!!!” My hamstring cracks like a shot, I manage to get across the line on a serious decelerate, other runners taking advantage of my weakness, leaving me to the lions. There is searing pain, all the way up my leg. I am disappointed. I hurt, my leg is already swelling. I try and hide the limp, I shake hands with my combatants – it was a good fair race and most of us survived. We did our bit, we are happy.
Later Shortest Pier would look up at me with his big blue eyes and say - “You won, didn’t you Daddy?”
“Not this time son, but hey, I enjoyed it. Did you?”
“Yeah, me too...I told everyone you won”
But my kid saw for the first time that I can break and hurt, I am fallible, I am getting old, my body will not do what it once did.,
- how do I embrace this?
- anyone here had experiances they would share?
Apologies for the long 'story' - it was written for a reason - if you read to the bottom then thanks.
I notice on the start line that I am not as well prepped as some of the other Dad’s who have turned up in shorts and trainers. I’m sure some of the dudes at the end have running spikes, the cheeky f
kers. My leather shoes with no grips, suit trousers with nice crease, a double-cuff long sleeve shirt mean I am behind many in the sports-equipment stakes. I have the foresight to loose as much weight as I can, remove the phone and keys, from the pockets, I even take the sunglasses off and hand all to Mrs Pier who nervously is waiting for the resulting carnage. I roll my sleeves up because I mean business. 'Should I take my shoes and socks off, Zola Budd style?' I think to myself. 'Nope you'd look like a right tt and would tread on something sharp', I reply. It is hot; the sun is burning down, perfect sprinting weather. There is a big crowd to the right baying hordes of women, some laughing at the spectacle of a large group of larger men limbering up. Many wives looking a little worried, they have been here before, others appear not at all happy that their partner is either not there to compete or is there but chooses not to (If they had white feathers they would be used I am sure). On the left is a huge bank of children huge expectant grins of their faces, this is a real circus, and here come the clowns - in the crowd are the five year old eyes of the Shortest Pier of my Clan who I must not let down.
It goes quiet, 35 guys in the same boat as me (apart from the ones, let’s call them cheats, who turned up with the gear). The friendliness is there, we're all in this together but so is the tension, you can feel it.
The Teacher uses the official “Ready, Steady, Go”, there is no better way to start the race I think, the flag drops on "go" and my god we’re off. I get purchase, I am into my stride quickly, I’m doing well, and the old speed is there. The noise we chaps make hammering along the grass track must be like wildebeest across the African plains. It probably looks about as sexy too. It gets nasty, a couple of Dad’s are falling over, skidding on their paunches, the crowd "ooohing" at the terrifying spectacle, these fallers are a grassy mess of embarrassment, other slower guys are hurdling them - I am not those men, I am young, I have the speed, like I always used to. It feels good; I am going to win (maybe).
My son will be proud of me.
I open up, lifting the knees, pumping the arms; lunchbox swinging in the confines, this is Chariots of Fire, Rocky Rocky Rocky - nothing can stop me. Nothing at all.
<SNAP>
“AAAAHH ffuummmppfftt!!!!” My hamstring cracks like a shot, I manage to get across the line on a serious decelerate, other runners taking advantage of my weakness, leaving me to the lions. There is searing pain, all the way up my leg. I am disappointed. I hurt, my leg is already swelling. I try and hide the limp, I shake hands with my combatants – it was a good fair race and most of us survived. We did our bit, we are happy.
Later Shortest Pier would look up at me with his big blue eyes and say - “You won, didn’t you Daddy?”
“Not this time son, but hey, I enjoyed it. Did you?”
“Yeah, me too...I told everyone you won”
But my kid saw for the first time that I can break and hurt, I am fallible, I am getting old, my body will not do what it once did.,
- how do I embrace this?
- anyone here had experiances they would share?
Apologies for the long 'story' - it was written for a reason - if you read to the bottom then thanks.
Realised I was getting old the first time my son reluctantly beat me at arm wrestling.I know he didn't really want to show me up but his pride got the better of him. A bit different I know but sometimes you have to accept these things gracefully, and be proud of your kids.
You just have to adjust your life style to take in to account your physical decline and use guile rather than physical prowess. They will still look up to you as their dad and will still phone you up when they need something, especially money bless them.
You just have to adjust your life style to take in to account your physical decline and use guile rather than physical prowess. They will still look up to you as their dad and will still phone you up when they need something, especially money bless them.
You need to show him that you can still beat nature, take the family on a safari kill one of every animal, the respect will take a huge boost when you take down a lion with just a knife.
EFA: Spalling as pointed out.
always ruin my jokes
EFA: Spalling as pointed out.
always ruin my jokes
Edited by Colin 1985 on Wednesday 21st July 19:35
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