Fog City

I keep thinking, and this goes on and on, about buying a tire pump for my bicycle, at the hardware store. But I don't. My alter ego seems to think I need to live longer, impress the multitude, and lose weight, or at least the midriff causing me anxiety. And riding a bike is suppose to be an ingredient, one of several, which will help. But here I sit in an ever deteriorating 65 year old body, screaming why bother. Now days exercise just induces nagging pain in my back, leg joints, lungs and leaves me depressed knowing I'm incapable of, what once came so easily. I'm considering joining the Y, so I can use the elliptical machine, the stationary bike, and treadmills, but that takes a mental commitment, which I know I would squander, and then feel guilty about the monthly fees. You see I've calculated most scenarios, and have for a long time, but now the reality of physical age has become a major factor. Too bad. Recovery time is longer, diet and nutrition are much stricter, just trying to stay in some kind of shape needs radical reform. But what, am I willing to try, and do I even care. Today I went lawn bowling, which is hardly aerobic, even though motion is required. A rather high degree of skill is necessary to compete, and the social interaction is nothing but positive, so in the larger scheme of things, I consider this activity worthwhile. It certainly doesn't reduce my waistline, but it makes me feel good. What more can I ask.