Off to the St. Joe. My "retired" hubby announced yesterday morning that he thought he'd go to the St. Joe today.
"I hope to leave by OH-600," he told me.
"And you'll get back far into the night," I said.
"Well, with it getting dark earlier, I can't fish as long," he said.
Well, the best-laid plans of mice and tired men didn't pan out according to Bill's usual meticulous scheduling.
Last night he arrived home after 6 p.m. from his day's work in Blanchard.
He looked pretty exhausted as he sat on the couch eating his dinner when I arrived home from a visit with my sisters.
So, this morning when OH-600 came and he was still in bed snoozing, I figured maybe he'd scrapped his St. Joe plans.
Well, he got out of here closer to OH-700, bound for the St. Joe, well stocked with a day's worth of munchies and all his fishing gear.
I'm guessing this being "retired" and working 10-hour days is making Bill a little tired.
But he'll get his juices going again today after a day of fly fishing.
As for me, I'm thinking about my body and how it's reacting these days to overkill on the physical front.
My knee is still killing me today---almost four days after our 8-mile hike on Sunday.
I was figuring on two days of misery-----from walking on that painful heel spur, pushing that knee beyond its usual limits and with the residuals that reared their pain the day after my stumble along the trail.
I stumbled and almost fell on my face Sunday just after snapping a picture of Bill and Annie crossing a bridge.
The bridge helped stop my fall, and fortunately, the camera hanging around my neck came out alive after its impact with the bridge.
My bracelet from Morocco, given to me by Annie the day before, did not fare so well. About a mile down the trail from the stumble, the bracelet fell off.
One of its links had apparently broken during the impact of catching myself on the bridge. I later took it to a jeweler and learned that it's unfixable.
This morning I felt a new sore spot on my arm, probably a muscle strain from grabbing the edge of the bridge.
And, this damn knee---it screamed all night long. I'm hoping it's the weather change (we did have some rain overnight).
I'm also hoping the pain will go away soon.
The only other time I remember my body taking so long to recover from a strenuous hike was the day in July, 1982, when Bill and I and a group of yearbook students climbed Scotchman Peak.
A near blizzard at the top sent us back down within minutes with frozen hands and no scenic vistas.
My only "reward" for that climb was one full week of dreading every time I had to get in or out of a car.
My body would not cooperate cuz it hurt from head to toe----for seven full days.
At least this time, the pain has concentrated in just a few areas, but I'm tired of it.
Oh, the fun of knowing the body is getting old and increasingly resistant to strenuous activity.
Never mind the fact that I usually put in at least six or seven miles a day doing my chores around this place. Stuff still hurts when we go on those fun-filled outings.
In spite of the misery, though, I have no intentions of slowing down---just yet anyway.
There's a bottle of Advil sitting on the window sill.
And, before I saddle up Lefty today, I'll probably pop a pill in hopes of giving the knee and me something else to think about.
Happy Thursday. Wishing everyone a painless day.