On the bench...

 

While I'm not averse to adult happy beverages, my love of them has not put me on the bench--yet.  No, dear readers, you few brave souls, its another athletic injury.  Rarely in my life have I hurt myself in the usual, dramatic ways--broken bones, gashes, amputations  No, it is my lot in life to stress and strain my connective bits such that, while I'm by no means incapacitated, I'm compelled to stop doing whatever it was that caused the injury, stuff that I really love to do.  This, of course, means biking, climbing, whatever.  Last year, I was able to smash the middle finger of my left hand with a rolling block of granite.  This year, as if I've got some diabolical problem with that digit, I managed to pull some connective tissue--swelling, minor pain, major pain in the ass.   My big plans for rock climbing this summer are over.  Yeah, I know, First World Problems, but they're mine, so I get to indulge.  What's the old line?  You want to hear God laugh?  Tell him your plans.

Sigh....

I have not been blessed with the most resilient of tendons.  I suffered my first such injury in my early twenties, and, as is typical, it took many, many months to fully recover.  Even today, thirty years later, that elbow can talk to me.  I think I've gotten better over the years in dealing with these setbacks, but they still drag me down.  I have to breath deep, be thankful for the true bounty of what my life gives me, and shift my focus to other things.  I'll hike, ride the great recumbents in my mini-barn, work on my book about the Great Divide tricycle madness, and live for a while without climbing.  This is not Greek tragedy--more like geek tragedy.  Still, it's no fun to have your wings clipped.