Durability of This Old Bod

Could be I'm one tough old babe. In the sense of physical durability. Some of which likely represents genetic inheritance, and a goodly portion the result of a lifelong fascination with physical activities. Those activities including hiking, canoe camping, mountain clambering, alpine camping, and generally enjoying out-of-doors opporunities nature throws our way.

I've had fun skiing, snowshoeing, skating and plenty of fun canoeing, swimming and wild berry picking. I've also kept up almost five decades of cardio-vascular, limbering-up exercises on a casual but regular basis. This all helps, needless to say. Along with a commitment to eating nutritionally sound foods. Eating: that's one whole lot of fun too.

I've reached the almost-venerable age of three-score years and ten. I'm neither wobbly, dreadfully wrinkled, white-haired (grey instead) or overweight. Life is terrific, quite grand, thank you very much. Likewise for my husband, same age as me (a month younger) and with whom I've shared all of life's joys for almost 52 years. And then there's our two little dogs, Button and Riley, 13 and 6 years of age respectively. Button is the female, smart and independent, a miniature poodle, while Riley is the male, kinda dumb, overly dependent, a toy poodle.

From the time she was a puppy Button made it her business to get out of the way to ensure she would never be trampled upon. From the time he was a puppy Riley maintained this truly irritating habit of being underfoot all the time, barely managing to survive episodes when he was indeed trod on, that wee wisp of a furry-bit of a dog. However, as he got older he got a little smarter about that and learned to move with alacrity when the occasion demanded; he kind of stopped his habit of straying underfoot.

A month or so ago when we were doing our usual hour-hike in the ravine beside our house, I slipped on a sheer icy patch and cracked the back of my head. When I use the word crack I don't say it casually; there was a huge CRACK! as my head, last to hit the ice, met that solid glacial surface. It took a week for the pain to move from my head down to my neck, my shoulders, my arms, my hips, my legs. My head is healing nicely, it's my arms that remain sore, often waking me at night with the burden of soreness. But as I said, I'm one tough old bird; we didn't miss one circuit in the ravine after that, just pulled on our handy cleats and trekked on. I did have to forego my evening exercises for a few weeks, since resumed.

Then last night, cute little red-haired Riley twice within the space of five minutes caused me grief by positioning himself directly behind me while I worked at the kitchen stove. The first time this happened and I realized, as I turned, that he was there, I was able to circumvent a potential crush of his little body. The second time it happened, I was as unprepared as the first time, but somewhat more surprised since it had been so long and now suddenly he reverted to his irritating old habit. This time I was propelled, in my attempt to avoid slamming into him, halfway across the kitchen.

This time I landed on the lovely porcelain tile floor knees first, then outstretched arms, then front of my head. I landed in an angry daze, knees sore, wrists sore, arms sore, head sore from having clunked against the kitchen cupboard under the sink. I crouched there in a daze, barely able to answer my husband's anxious questions, becoming more and more angry with that little dog who was himself enquiring after my health by popping up next to and licking me. He was ordered out, and left promptly, while innocent Button made herself scarce too, hearing the loud voices.

Well, here it is another day. My head is fine; still positioned firmly where it belongs. My arms, forget my arms, they are painfully sore. It'll take a little while, I guess, before my arms are back to normal. Damn! they hadn't reached that level yet from the after effects of the earlier fall. But that hasn't stopped me from doing all my usual things; laundry, ironing, bed-making, cooking, ravine hiking. I forge on, like that battery-operated bunny.

Hey, good thing I'm so robust for my age; pliable, resilient, strong. Bring it on!

Er, give it a rest.