Green Tee Readings

Sometime yesterday or while I slept I did a number on my right foot*. It compares to the Memorial Day ‘01 when it seemed like a cromulent idea to play some sand volleyball, a sport I hadn’t played in ages, like most other sports at that time in my life. Also, for the record, I was probably pushing upwards of 230 pounds. The math there (feet unused to stretching, stressing, and support I was asking them to do, plus being a lardass, minus supportive shoes equals tendons destroyed for a couple of days.) was reasonable and waking up the next morning I knew what I’d done wrong and was planning to atone for my sins by lying in bed all day watching television and eating pizza and ice cream.

Today, though, I have no clue what I did to deserve this fate. I am heavier than I’d like to be, and I’m not as active as I should be, but I walk more on most days than I did yesterday and I normally carry a heavier backpack. Unless one of the cats dropped a bowling ball on my foot, or the rain last night has mysterious right foot only decrepifying powers, the only thing that’s vaguely reasonable to me is that I’m unused to driving and the process of keeping my foot on the accelerator is what’s causing me to maneuver around more slowly than any of my grandmothers. And let me tell you, that’s the kind of vaguely reasonable that isn’t.

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