The Cautionary Tale

The Great Plotnik had a small revelation this morning. It was foggy and still a little damp on the streets, but he was on his Plotkicycle, doing his every Saturday hill-and-bagel run, and was just about to turn down Harper on the way over to Noe when he saw a guy in a blue windbreaker, like his, jogging down Harper Street in front of him.

Plotnik goes slowly down hills now whenever possible, so he didn't catch up to the guy until a few blocks later, on the first hill, between 29th and Valley. At the top of the hill as Plottie pulled abreast of the runner, the guy saw him and said 'We're like the Tour de France, riding and running."

Plotnik slowed down on the straightaways and they talked for awhile as they ran and cycled. For one thing, the guy was able to talk while running, without panting, which is pretty damned impressive since he was at the end of his workout while Plotnik was just beginning.

It turned out his name is Gerald and he is 60, and is involved in some way with therapy for athletes and others who have suffered debilitating injuries, usually later in life. He said this to Plotnik:

"I'll give you some cautionary advice."

"I'm all ears," Plottie said, as he braked down the big hill at 25th St.

"I see guys all the time," Gerald said, "usually runners, but sometimes other athletes, and also musicians."

"Uh oh," Plotnik thought.

"Here's what happens to the great majority of them. They're in athlete shape, they train religiously, they run, say half marathons or marathons, or they bike certain distances, and it's a regular thing with them. Then someone convinces them to kick it up several notches. They train hard for a double marathon this time, or a 200 mile run, and they feel good, and they go to Chicago for the race, and they go to bed one night and wake up and they cannot move their back. They are frozen."

"Really?" Plotnik said, as they stopped to let a few cars pass in front of them at 24th St.

"Really," Gerald said, "or I see musicians who practice every day, three hours a day, and then they decide to do a special recital, so now they practice ten hours a day until the recital. When it's over, their arm hurts. They've got tendinitis now and it will never go away and they'll never again be able to play like they used to."

"So it's the change?"

"I think so," Gerald said. "Your spine, your skeleton, your muscular structure, adapts to the strain you're putting on it. Then you change that pattern. The older you are, the harder it is for your body to change over. It seems that simple to me."

They headed up the hated Liberty Hill. Plotnik realized he could not pass Gerald. The man was in fabulous shape. "So," Plotnik said, "all those people who want me to get rid of this big old really heavy bike and get a new one, and I say I don't want to because even though it's heavy I know exactly how hard I'm working when I ride it, so though a new one would make the hills easier I'd have no idea what that would be doing to my muscles...I'm right?"

"You're right, brother," Gerald said, and turned to go home on 22nd St. Plotnik usually rides in a few circles at 22nd, just to catch his breath, but he couldn't let Gerald see him stop so he kept going to the top. It wasn't any harder than it usually is.

So, my good buddy NotThat, bear this in mind when you keep ramping up. You may not be an Autumnal Chicken, like Plottie, but you're not a Spring Chicken either. Just sayin'.