A couple of nights ago a friend was over for dinner & a glass of wine. We got to sharing exercise ‘war stories’, and she was telling us about how she attended a “Boot Camp” exercise class for the first time. Her instructor (who happened to be her daughter) worked them hard, and our friend thought she’d had a pretty good workout, but felt she had done well. Until the next morning when she hit the washroom for her morning relief. When she tried to raise herself from her seat her legs wouldn’t cooperate and there she sat until some time later when her legs decided they had punished her enough. Well of course we laughed and we laughed – silly woman!. Well! Let me tell you that that ain’t no BS Mr. Whalen. I had attended my workout session Wednesday so my legs were a little tense, shall we say. But all was good, until about 03:00 when I hit the John for my morning constitutional (get used to it folks, it becomes a routine as you age). Upon completion of the task my brain sent a message to my legs to arise from the throne, your kingly duties are done. My legs pulled a Telus on me. Somewhere the call was dropped. I’ve no idea where it went, it just didn’t make it all the way to recipient legs. So I ‘redialed’ and same thing. Nope. You ain’t gettin’ up – no how! Well there I sat, in the dark, with my legs laughing at me ’cause buddy “… you ain’t goin’ nowhere!” I thought of calling out for my bride but the old ‘salmon eye’ raised a spectre of humiliation that would be unbearable (plus I thought she would likely collapse from laughter & I was in no position to help her). I thought of calling our friend to share the irony, but considering the hour and the fact that my cell phone was in the kitchen, that plan was out. I thought of just falling back to sleep right there but then furore that would be raised when my bride came in for her morning ritual made me flush that plan (bad pun intended). Well, I won’t go into detail but I was able to work my way to my knees and shuffle back to bed, with my agonizing legs laughing at me the whole time. I clawed my way back into bed – when did they start making beds this high? – and lay there contemplating life, exercise and Telus. When does it stop hurting? Please!