When I was a kid my dear old Grandma would often say that if she knew how much it hurt to get old that she’d have never done it.
If you are over forty, you will understand what she was talking about.
She also had a name for the strange phenomenon of feeling fine when you went to bed and then waking up with some strange pain that causes limited movement like a crick in the neck or a shoulder that suddenly doesn’t want to rotate, again, if you are over forty, you know exactly what I am talking about.
She called them Mystery Pains.
Hurting for no good reason.
As tore the fuck up as I am from being such a crazy sonofabitch in my youth, I eat Ibuprofen by the fucking handful almost on some days.
I get Mystery Pains all the time but if I sit and think about it for a minute I can usually come up with either a car wreck, a motorcycle accident, a skateboard crash or a bicycle wreck that explains it.
When you have been in as many crashes as I have, you start to really marvel at how tough a bastard Evel Kneivel really must have been.
He was my hero when I was young and I have pulled some stunts that should have killed my ass dead.
Apparently God has plans for me. If nothing else, as an example of what not to do when you are young and full of piss and vinegar.