That being: unlike 10 years ago, my attempting to pitch a baseball from a full windup results in, rather than a called strike, a back spasm, which results in me face-planting on the infield grass.
Getting old is a bitch ain't it? My spouse who will hit the big 60 this summer is just a big old kid. We were out walking a while back and were passing a brick wall. Hot stuff decides he can jump up and land his butt on the wall. It is maybe a foot higher than his butt. A breeze thinks he who only a decade ago could still perform such feats in an effort to woo me. He launched himself but did not make it. He snagged his pants on the bricks and ripped his pants from pocket to across his butt. He managed to acquire a huge scrape on his back and assorted other bruises. Unbeknownst to us he also lost his wallet and we, and by we I mean I, had to go back later. He was laid up a few days.
Getting older, I find I have to use a little more "finess" where in the past I could use brute force.
Power tools are a blessing. Everything from riding mowers to log splitters to power saws to cordless drills and impact wrenches. God invented motors/engines/hydrolics for a reason.
With my list of perminent malodies I have had to give serious thought to the difference between quality and quantity of life. I am not interested in ending my life but my doctor is pressing me to give up beer, NOT HAPPENING.
I expect to go straight to hell...........at least I won't have to spend time making new friends.