I USED TO BE ABLE TO

            As I suffer from another herniated disk and wait for it to again cause so much pain that surgery is the only remedy, thoughts of what I used to be able to do creep up.

NO! This isn't a picture of me!

            For one, I used to be able to hoola-hoop. It took some practice after our parents bought those plastic circles, but eventually I could keep the thing circling my too large stomach for a sustained period of time. After more practice, I could keep it going around my knees. What I wonder fifty years later is why didn’t the pounds melt away as I used the hoola-hoop? These days, an attempt to make the hoop make more than one revolution would end up with my lying on the bed for days and writhing in pain.

            Once upon a time I rode a bicycle with ease. Daddy and Mother got our first bikes when we were seven or eight. Waiting for warm weather to arrive, we’d ride the things in tight circles in our unfinished basement. Dodging the metal support posts was difficult, but both Jim and I became good riders.

            Those bikes were stripped down models. They were prized possessions, but they were nothing more than basic bikes. That meant the only speeds available were the ones we could supply with our legs. Jim and I rode those bike all over the community and over the ridge to Karns. On a couple of occasions, we traveled to Hardin Valley, where Bill Jones lived, and then we wound through roads until we arrived at a place at which we could see the lake. I’m not sure which one it was, but by the time we rode back home, I’d had my fill of biking. Oh, by the way, we never wore a helmet. Sure, we had some wrecks and suffered scraped knees and bruised egos, but we never cracked our heads.

            I’ve tried to ride a bike in the recent past. One, I don’t have the stamina to stay on the thing. Two, my back aches like crazy from sitting in a hunched over position. Three, those small seat lead to chafing and other more serious pains. So, I gave up on the idea of becoming a geriatric cyclist.

            One Christmas, Jim and I received skateboards. Yes, even back then they were available. However, the entire thing consisted of a painted board with a logo and four metal wheels similar to the ones on outdoor skates. We practiced on them until riding down the hill on the subdivision road beside our house was no big deal. Even as we sped down the road, making a right turn onto the second street was an easy move. The only danger came when the board made contact with a rock or stick. Those obstructions stopped the wheel, but not the rider. Plenty of times I left the board and ran down the hill or went flying forward until I splatted on the pavement.

            I’m smart enough to know not to try riding one these days. I could never keep my balance, and if I fell off the thing, the possibility that something might brake, sprain, or rupture is possible.

            These days, I am thankful if I can walk to the mailbox without having to stop while the pain in my back and leg subsides. Yep, I used to be able to do physical things with little worry about hurting. These days, I’d be happy to work in the yard and play golf without suffering. What happened? I suppose it’s another example of aging kicking  a guy’s butt. Still, it beats the alternative, so excuse my whine; I’ll try ache in silence.