It’s finally dawned on me. I’ll never be an elite athlete.
It seems the clock has ticked, the back has sticked, the knees are wricked and my sporting career is flicked.
It’s a sad day. Maybe others saw it coming.
But I’m sitting here in my ergonomic chair with the computer screen magnified to 120 per cent waiting for the aspirin to kick in and wondering where the time went.
In my youth (wasted though it was) I loved sport. Just not the sports my parents signed me up for.
To clarify. I loved solo sports – cycling, running . . . even swimming (so long as I never had to put my face in the water). Thank god for backstroke.
But the options now have narrowed.
Lawn bowls? No. Archery? Uh uh. Dog-sledding. Is that even a sport? The answer’s still no.
They say running after kids is its own form of fitness. But when they spend their spare time playing computer games, watching DVDs or howling in their bedrooms because getting along is just not an option, well, there’s just not that much running to do.
So much easier to just reach into the pantry, snuffle the treats you don’t want the kids to get and work off the guilt later in a flurry of housework.
Anyway. I’m off. I could walk to school to pick up the kids, but I think I’ll drive. If my sporting career is over, there’s not much point aggravating that pesky apathy injury.