My wife and I recently went to Florida for a week, and our vacation was wonderful. Was it wonderful because it was 85 degrees in February? Nope. Was it wonderful because we went to many fabulous restaurants (to the point where I contemplated buying some stretch pants)? Nope. Was it wonderful because I used membership points from my credit card company (points I didn’t even know I had until late last year) to pay for the airfare and rental car? Nope.
The reason our vacation was wonderful is very simple: we napped. That’s right, on multiple days while in Florida we laid down on the bed during the middle of the afternoon and just zonked out for 20 minutes. It was delightful.
The reason our vacation was wonderful is very simple: we napped. That’s right, on multiple days while in Florida we laid down on the bed during the middle of the afternoon and just zonked out for 20 minutes. It was delightful.
I rarely get an opportunity to nap these days since my schedule is so hectic. So, when I finally had a chance to do it multiple days in a row, it was terrific. I never used to need to nap or want to nap, but now that I’m an official geezer, I realize the countries around the world that have the “siesta culture” are really doing it right.
Speaking of being a geezer, every time I’ve gone to Florida in the past, I felt like a young pup. After all, they don’t call the state “God’s Waiting Room” for nothing. In some places, the average age seems to be approaching triple digits. But on this visit to the Sunshine State, the first time I’ve gone since before Covid, I fit right in. Everyone assumed I was a retired “snow bird,” just enjoying the weather until April, at which time I would travel back north like everyone else. More than a few times I had to say, “No no, despite this gray hair, I’m still working full time back in New England.”
Another thing I said more than a few times while in Florida was, “No thanks. I’d rather not.” Each time I said this, the other person stared in confusion, then finally muttered, “But, but I don’t understand. You mean you DON’T want to play pickleball? Everybody plays pickleball!”
Speaking of being a geezer, every time I’ve gone to Florida in the past, I felt like a young pup. After all, they don’t call the state “God’s Waiting Room” for nothing. In some places, the average age seems to be approaching triple digits. But on this visit to the Sunshine State, the first time I’ve gone since before Covid, I fit right in. Everyone assumed I was a retired “snow bird,” just enjoying the weather until April, at which time I would travel back north like everyone else. More than a few times I had to say, “No no, despite this gray hair, I’m still working full time back in New England.”
Another thing I said more than a few times while in Florida was, “No thanks. I’d rather not.” Each time I said this, the other person stared in confusion, then finally muttered, “But, but I don’t understand. You mean you DON’T want to play pickleball? Everybody plays pickleball!”
Yeah, well, maybe everybody plays pickleball, but not this guy. You see, I made a promise to a couple of close friends that I would never engage in any activity that would put them in mortal jeopardy. My two friends are my Left Achilles tendon and my Right Achilles tendon.
In recent years I’ve known of several friends and acquaintances — some my age, others quite younger — who were playing low-key games such as beer league softball or doubles tennis, and then suddenly they dropped like a rock, with one of their heel bones no longer attached to the appropriate calf muscle. The subsequent surgery and recovery from the ruptured Achilles tendon was painful and lengthy.
I had a long talk with my two friends, Lefty and Righty. We came to an agreement that if I engaged only in physical exercise that does not require fast stopping and starting with my legs — such as swimming, walking, or sitting at the Black Jack tables at Foxwoods — then they would keep my calf muscles and heels connected. In my mind, it’s a very sensible agreement.
In recent years I’ve known of several friends and acquaintances — some my age, others quite younger — who were playing low-key games such as beer league softball or doubles tennis, and then suddenly they dropped like a rock, with one of their heel bones no longer attached to the appropriate calf muscle. The subsequent surgery and recovery from the ruptured Achilles tendon was painful and lengthy.
I had a long talk with my two friends, Lefty and Righty. We came to an agreement that if I engaged only in physical exercise that does not require fast stopping and starting with my legs — such as swimming, walking, or sitting at the Black Jack tables at Foxwoods — then they would keep my calf muscles and heels connected. In my mind, it’s a very sensible agreement.
When we returned home to Connecticut, It was nice that I did not have to exit the plane using crutches. Once I got off the plane, I did have to hustle to the men’s room, you know, being a geezer and all. As I hustled, Lefty and Righty reminded me, “No need to jog, pal. Just walk briskly and we’ll get you there on time.”
All in all, even though I had to disappoint many people with my “no pickleball” rule, our time in Florida was wonderful.
All in all, even though I had to disappoint many people with my “no pickleball” rule, our time in Florida was wonderful.
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