Middle aged moan

It's no secret, and in any case would be easy to discover, that I'm in my mid-40's -- middle aged by any sensible definition (though I guess still slightly pre-middle of my adult life -- whatever). And there's one part of it I hate (no, not that one, get your mind out of the gutter). So, herewith a moan.

I was out running yesterday. I came to a small wire barrier (so that teenage drivers don't cleverly drive their cars onto a rugby pitch), which I routinely hurdled, as I've done a hundred times now probably. But, I caught my trail foot on the wire and went down on the grass in an undignified heap. (Cue laugh track)

In my 20's, things would have progressed as follows: I would have said “oh bother”, or words to that effect; looked around in embarrassment to see if there were any witnesses; and then picked myself up and run on. A slight sting from the graze on my elbow would have been the only consequence.

Now, things start out in much the same way. But, when I get up to run on, I discover that I've somehow managed to strain a calf muscle in my left leg, my hamstring in my right leg, and my left shoulder (which is not even the one I landed on) is absurdly sore.

Moan, moan, moan. Just another bad beat.