A Little, Old Man

I waited for John to call me to go to the pool. Then I grew weary of waiting and went on by myself. He never called. He never does if he does not come. He just leaves me hanging. I no longer wait long on folks. If you will wait, that is all you will do. I swam

1,400

50 back

total: 1,450 yards = 1,325 meters.

As you can see, I am still easing the swimming back up a little at a time. I have paid my entry fee to the National Senior Olympic Games. I qualified for six events but only signed up for two. Why is that, you say? Because I have no chance as a sprinter or backstroker. I have little chance in the 200 and 500 free, but those are my best events, and I have decided that I am willing to get beaten in them.

After swimming, I went out for a run. My wife saw me and when I got home she was bending over laughing and slapping her knee and saying that I "looked like a little old man out there." Well, I am little. I am old. I am a man. So why is it so funny that I should look like what I am?

No, I did not go to Plate City. Why? Because I finally got my lawn mower fixed again, thanks to Staige Roberts. The front needed mowing pretty bad so I did it. I hate my yard to grow up.

How far? I shuffled, like a little, old man, 3.2 miles. That is three days in a row. I have it going again on the road, and I wrote a bunch of events down on the inside flap of my training diary. One more time, I am going to try to get my old form back. Thank you, Jesus, for hope. Without it, I am just a little, old man.