My angry meniscus

And even angrier wisdom

Everything was set and ready.

I’d put in the time, my bike is tuned and my calories counted and purchased.

Then?

Dodgeball happened.

I zigged like a champ.

My knee zagged like an octogenarian.

Then my body screamed like the Tic Toc Taliban - JOINT JUSTICE NOW!

Though mostly fit, I am a 53 year old man who has been fairly hard on my body.

Now?

I’m almost American.

I want life.

I want liberty.

And the pursuit of happy knees.

Unfortunately, my knees are not cooperating.

In the system that is me, my will is there.

My shell is there.

The fuel is there.

The motor that is my cardio vascular system is running optimally.

And?

I’ve blown a part of my transfer case or transmission.

As such, with a tweaked knee, I’m not riding my bike 100 miles through the rain tomorrow.

Stubborn me still wants to go.

Experienced me doesn’t want to be soggy and crying on the trail, ten miles from any road and fifty miles from my own bed.

With that in mind?

I’ve chickened out on the Resurewrection ride tomorrow.

Frustrated?

Yup.

I’ve got an angry pile of rats chewing the face off a dissident inside of my chest.

But I guess that beats hypothermia and a summer of limping around from bus to bus to work rather than riding my bikes.

Is this what wisdom feels like?

If so, wisdom can go fuck itself.

Stay salty, you fools.