Thursday, 27 May 2010

Old & Knackered

Only one word to describe how I've been feeling this week: bloody exhausted.

OK, two words.

After a weekend of way too much cheap red plonk (courtesy of Chesham Rugby Club's annual dinner) and subsequent hangover in 30 degree heat at my son's 7-a-side football tournament (that's association football - I know, I'm sorry) , I then spent 6½ hours in the car on Tuesday driving to and from my aunt's funeral, a day which was both physically and emotionally draining.

So I was obviously in great shape when I turned up for Tuesday evening's Touch Rugby and my contribution to the game was consequently minimal (although it was kindly pointed out that I contributed to at least 3 of the opposition's tries!). Despite my best endeavours, however, we scraped an 8-7 victory - our young speedster, Tom, proving the difference between the teams.

What Tom's performance has done is to cause me to reflect on something I lost many moons ago. Although possibly better placed as the subject matter of a fascinating, self-indulgent and melancholic entry in the "Whatever Happened To" series, a few words here about my lost youth do appear to be appropriate.

You see, whereas today I may be known as a confirmed member of the esteemed order of sad old farts, once upon a time I was imbued with youthful vigour, fitness, enthusiasm and stamina. For much of the 1980s I played or trained 6 days out of 7 and even well into my twenties I'd train twice a week, play for my club on Saturday, get up and play social rugby on Sunday and squeeze in a game of football for my firm midweek. No wonder I struggled to get my weight UP, tipping the scales at a puny 13½ stone despite my best efforts to bulk up, both in the gym and in the pub where I would usually stay until last orders most nights of the week.

Nowadays of course the ravages of age and a more sedentary lifestyle mean that my body's still suffering nearly 48 hours after a game of Touch Rugby, I fall asleep well before the pub closes and we no longer talk about my weight.

Youth and talent no match for age and treachery? Bollocks.

2 comments:

Nursedude said...

Wow. This is a post that hits close to home after my crappy week before my ablation. I Went into my cardiac procedure the day after my grandmother's funeral and doing CPR on a patient who coded at change of shift(he ended up dying a couple of days later) Try not to think about what you used to be able to do in your twenties(I would go mad, if I did), think about how much better you are doing compared to other guys who are over 40, who don't do anything more physical than smoke a cigarette or drink a Newcastle.

Anonymous said...

I agree with Nursedude - how good is it to play a game on a Saturday, have a few beers with your mates and then coach on a Sunday? I'll tell you - brilliant! There's no better feeling than to feel knackered and battered all week but look forward to the next Saturday when you can do it all again. From a 50 year old 2nd row who can't wait for next season to start. Old & knackered? Bollocks!