So, yesterday I was at the school picking up my daughter and husband, and had to kill a little time before we went home. So I took my daughter out to the playground, where a second-grader was doing a cherry-drop off of the bars.
Only her cherry-drop wasn’t what I’d always thought of as a cherry-drop (which is when you hang from your knees, swing until you get high enough, then flip off.) So I showed her that, then a few other things that I hadn’t done in twenty years.
And completely amazed myself that I could do them. Amazed her, too. So I showed her how to do them, and she picked it up fast.
Her parents will probably kill me when she slips for the first time and ends up cracking her knees coming out of a death drop, but she’s going to be the queen of the playground for a little while.
But me … well, I was awesome for about two hours. First were the blisters (oh, how I remember those from elementary school. Every autumn, I had blisters until the calluses hardened my palms into steel. Now, my weenie hands are only good for typing.)
And my Achilles’ tendon is sore. Ouch ouch. I landed way too hard on a couple of those dismounts.
But worst are the backs of my knees. I bruise easily, but you should see the suckers behind my knees. It’s like someone whacked me with a baseball bat. And my back muscles are tight.
So I’m hobbling around and thinking, why oh why?
Yesterday, I was ten again. Today, I’m getting a good look at seventy.
Why, oh why?