A conversation with my friend Brian:
B: I will just click my heels.
Me: Wait, lick your heels?
B: No, CLICK. CLICK my heels.
Me: Oh, I heard LICK. Hahahahahaha. Lick. That’s very different.
B: It IS. I wonder though…
Me: I know! Me too!
(We both try to see if it is physically possible to lick our heels. Soon, everyone in the room follows our lead. We all look AWESOME. It is at this point we realize my foot can go behind my head.)
Everyone: Hey! Your foot can go behind your head!
Me: Who knew? It makes sense, though. I mean, I can still hit my splits.
Everyone: Well, show us!
I hop up, ready to jump into my splits. Stretching? Who needs to stretch when you have mad flexi-skills? Because running doesn’t tighten your muscles at all, right? Not at all! Stretching is for the overly-cautious. The ridiculous. The OLDS.
My friend Leah: You know, I tried to do the splits last summer. [I slip off my shoes.] I probably should have stretched first. [I start to slide into my splits.] Because I definitely pulled my [POP] hamstring.
The good news: I can totally really still hit my splits.
The bad news: POP. And also, ouch. And also also, no running. And also also also, a not-so-sexy shuffle limp.
I might have pulled my hamstring but worse? I sprained my dignity. And that hurts most of all. Because I’m like a middle-aged former football player who tries to relive his glory days by throwing the perfect spiral but ends up throwing out his back instead.
Aging gracefully. It’s a work in progress, evidently.
(So is maturity, as evidenced by the following photo that happened last week):