Am I Now Spry?

It’s one of those adjectives to describe old people, which, like all older people, I kind of resent. I’m fifty-six, and it’s is one of those ages that, when people of that age die, the younger ones say “Ah, but they’ve already lived most of their lives”. And like everyone my age, I want to tell them to piss off.

However, I was injured recently. I fell skiing and twisted my knee, and probably a ligament in my ankle. (Okay, “falling skiing” sounds a bit banal. It was ski alpinism, going to the top of the Mont Vélan, and required an ice axe, a rope, crampons and the whole shebang. Not super hard but not, like, a day on the ski runs stopping for coffee in every café). Anywho, it’s taking a while to heal. I’ve been trying to do the same things as before but it’s difficult climbing, for example. I don’t have as much strength in my ankle, and I can’t push with my feet as well.

I realize now that I was really arrogant about my abilities before the accident. It was natural for me to climb a certain level, to be able to hike up and down at a certain speed. None of that is guaranteed, and at the moment, I’m definitely under par. But I was such a spry old thing before.

I may be becoming venerable, crotchety, eccentric, or heaven forbid wise, or any of those other adjectives reserved for people of a certain age.

Screw you all.

(Now, if only I could find my reading glasses, I can re-read this and post it. Geesh, I mean, I write a blog, with no advertising, no YouTube channel, and while I’m on Instagram, it’s only to post pretty pictures and look at my friend’s farm photos. It’s worse than I thought; I may be becoming a sweet old lady.)

Seriously, you can all go to hell.