fitness

Randomies and Bits and Bobs…again

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Yeah, it’s a made-up word. I’ve been watching too much British television. So? Doesn’t it sound right?

I’d like to ignore it but there has been a lot screeching from the Trump administration about upholding the law. Bondi, Leavitt, and et. al., have parroted Trump in the shouting about obeying the law. The irony is lost on them and it’s okay, but sheeesh. Have some pride, for goodness sake. Just think “kettle meet pot, pot meet kettle.” At least be a little quieter and show some humility. An old saying of my father’s comes to mind: “it’s better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool-” You’re a smart reader, you know the rest.

Same with the “liberal bias” nearly everywhere in Trump World. “Fox meet MSNBC, MSNBC meet Fox”. And not for nothing but the “free press” has always been seen as the opposition to the sitting administration. In Trump World Fox is part of the administration so that might be why when the whiners complain of bias in the “main-stream media” they never mention Fox.

A randomy (sic) of note: nearly all of Trump’s Executive Orders deal with, imply, reveal, expose, and try to remedy the insecurity displayed by the MAGA movement. Everything not kissing MAGA’s rings is a threat.

DEI. If you want to see what DEI is, go out to eat in a big city with a partner. Know what the biggest problem will be?: You want Chinese or Italian? Korean? Mexican? Viet Namese? Schnitzel? Creole? Southern?

Or music: Latin, classical, rock, hip-hop, polka, K-Pop, soul, reggae, or any one of the many styles?

And sports fans will rue the day Trump orders all professional sports teams to be made up of only American, white, Christian players. When I wrote this I tried to see how Native Americans fit in it, but, alas. Can you do it for me? **

DEI is all around us. Grow up.

Most Americans, and this includes MAGAs. are incapable of understanding complex issues. That lack of understanding is the major reason we still have big, unsolved problems. The deportations Trump is rushing through, for example. Not one single American thinks deporting bad non-citizens is wrong. Not one. For those that have working minds, the problem isn’t any one individual, but Trump is throwing out so many people, so fast, the only way to get the point about “due process” is if you imagine it happening to you: sent to CECOT by “mistake”. “Administrative error”. The calculus is the same as the death penalty argument: No one is really against the death penalty for someone who “deserves” it, but after so many convictions overturned, for example, do you think it’s possible we, us, America, have executed one, single innocent man?

For some real immigrant fun, watch the Movie “The Gangs of New York”.

Trump’s efforts are being supported by an “the end justifies the means” argument. Again, fine, as long as you are not the one being “ended” by mistake.

In a previous post I mentioned how hard it is to talk with senior people. Another, happier reason not to is how long it takes. Bill (name not changed, there are no innocents) and I often talk before early morning fitness routines about the past. Bill is 84 and has a larger, longer past, but when we talk it isn’t about troubles but about those pasts. He’s 84, driven, successful, gregarious, while I’m lazy, misanthropic, and happy to get by, but the stories we tell are about the same things. And they are all funny…in a slightly wistful, nostalgic way. I’m 110 (sic) per cent sure neither of us exaggerates the stories, but the most important part is this: Bill tells one, I think of two of my own, and I tell one and he thinks of three of his own, and he tells one and I think of ten, and I tell one and he thinks of 20…ad infinitum.

To shorten this story, the pre-workout morning is storytelling and laughing,…with, sometimes, a hint of “did that really happen”? And that “hint” is not about Bill’s stories, but my own, unless he feels the same way and when we part we both go home thinking: “Did I really do that?”

Life is wonderful if you live long enough to realize it, are fit enough to remember it, and find someone who cares to hear you talk about it.

**wonder if anyone is offended

Hello, miss me?

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I’ve tried not to talk too much about The Calamities which have visited me these last 20 months, but what happened recently deserves noting.

Cancer, AMD, arthritis, and now anemia, caused by cancer treatments make up The Calamities. Of the four, The Big A, arthritis was the biggest pain in my arse(sic), and just about every joint, but especially in my left hip. It was the companion who went with me everywhere, to the tests, and treatments and recovery for all the other Calamities. Arthritis was with me every minute of every day for the last 20-some months. It even slept with me. When I rang the bell at the end of radiation, I had to limp up to the ringer.

Slowly we knocked the others off. We beat cancer, so far. We stopped AMD, so far, and anemia is being tracked, ready for elimination. But The Big A treatment required surgery, something we couldn’t do until the body could take it. Curing The Big C came first.

December 6th, 2024 the body was ready. At the sparkling Apex facility on Route 233 near Westmoreland, NY, I entered the Star Wars of medical care at 6:30am. Every single person from Doctor to receptionist was not only friendly, but treated me as if I were King Charles, or whoever is the big deal in England these day. Questions were answered, treatments were explained, hands were held, and flirting with nurses was allowed (so my daughter says).

Somewhere there is a record of the exact moment I came out from under anesthesia, but all I know, all I care about, all I celebrate, is the moment of the final, complete extermination of my painful companion. A “thing” that had dogged me, disabled me, and caused life to be severely limited…was gone. There was a picture in my mind of Dr. Wickline throwing my old hip bones into a red, medical waste bin, gone forever, to the cheers of his staff.

It’s safe to assume surgical drugs helped my post-op euphoria, but I knew the difference. And even when those drugs wore off and “NORMAL” surgical pain presented itself in the following days, it still felt painless, liberating, and rejuvenating. There was a new life to live…with out The Big A.

It helped that Dr. Wickline not only prepared me for all that was to happen, but he put it in a book so I could read and follow along, knowing all the time exactly what MIGHT happen, all the while hoping very little of it did. Dr. Wickline’s books, and his employees, and the Apex people, made the experience of gaining a new lease on life a real adventure, an enjoyable surgery, and thanks to all of them for getting me through it.

The days of recovery are saturated with noticing and analyzing pains and swellings, and bruising and possible nerve issues. All of which were in the book, and were already being treated by the “Recovery Drug” protocols outlined. Now, on my 12th recovery day, my only real problem is keeping my self from jumping with joy (Watch those sutures!) at the freedom and promise of new life, with both, now, my every day companions.

One last thing, if you are man my age, and you remember when coaches told you to “throw some dirt on it”, take notice of those pains, and modulate them or fix them before its too late. Don’t be so manly. I should have replaced the hip years ago.

Oh, and for fun: if I hadn’t gone to the doctor for The Big A in February 2023, I may not have caught the other Calamities in time to cure them. Think about it old men, and women. Get to the doctors. Now.

Early Morning Something or Other

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It’s 1:30 am, EST, and I’m not only awake, but rested. The Yankees won, so, that helps. And Aaron judge finally homered. Yay.

My days, lately, have inverted themselves. I sleep/nap a lot in the day and spend the night wide awake, rested and wondering about all the things a 20-year-old never had a clue he would be wondering about 52 years later. As a possible misanthrope, (don’t know where to go to get a fair and accurate diagnosis) it’s a pleasure having fewer people awake and milling about, doing nothing but making noise. In this area of upstate NY there are no 24 hour stores, or fitness centers, or any other place to wander around, so here I am. I’ll be at one or the other my fitness centers when they open at 6, and be back to my apartment, toned and refreshed, by the time most everyone else arises and starts to ruin the world.

This early morning post is obviously going nowhere, more like therapy. The daily dose of news has been consumed. The times for the day’s sporting events have been entered into my crowded schedule. I’ve checked my credit union to make sure my identity has not been stolen and money siphoned from accounts. Finished my Kia Warranty paperwork for Limpy, the car that shut down on me while driving. Getting it repaired was a thoroughly enjoyable venture into the world of corporations who communicate poorly and care little for 72 year-old health-challenged humans who need their car. Nuts, to them. They won’t have me to not call back much longer.

As a slower burner of calories, it’s time to plan the days food festivities. Being disabled has reduced my step rate from a healthy 8-10,000 a day, pre-Calamities, to the current dis-respectable average of 2,500 steps. I allow myself the luxury of not worrying about it, anymore, since swimming doesn’t translate into steps, so…I’m good.

I should probably go the bathroom. Maybe a piece of toast. Too early for 120 calories of carbos?

Huh. I’m tired. Just now. Just like that. 2am and back to bed. Not bad. Wonder how many calories I burned typing…