If Covid were a smart-ass street punk who’d just popped my wallet, I’d be checking the alleyways of his neighborhood for him. My brass knucks and hickory tire knocker are ready to beat his ass into jelly.
OK, I’m old school. Look at it my way. When Covid hit, I was a fit guy in his later years. I was an active hiker and was looking forward to testing for my yondan rank in my martial art, Iaido. Yondon is a fourth-degree black belt, and Iaido is a Japanese form of swordsmanship; my swords are very sharp.
When Covid came along, It was like the devil roosting on my chest for two weeks beating on my chest. The following two weeks, I was so weak going to the bathroom was a chore. And hobbling to the kitchen was a bridge too far. Luckily, I could work from home, and my computer was perhaps thirty steps from the bed. I could crawl to work if necessary. Everything took longer due to the brain fog, then the super arthritis flare kicked in, and the deteriorating hip deteriorated faster. Over the next several years, fitness became an issue of survival. I couldn’t take my fitness for granted. My body had too many issues, from post Covid weakness to needing a hip implant. I found that I now had to work at it. Never being a step counter, I now use my steps as a rough guide for how much exercise I need. The new hip feels better if I work the hell out of it, and the arthritis is better if I exercise, carefully watch for flares, and work around them.
I am three years post Covid and one year post hip implant. My activity levels are returning to something closer to previous levels than I had hoped. I am starting to work with my sword katas ( forms or exercises) again, walk daily, garden, and work around the house.
Summer is easy; it’s winter I dread. I’m looking for a health club with an indoor track for running and walking – treadmills bore the hell out of me.
So, yeah, I’m OK. But if you see Covid around, tell him to hide. I’m coming for him with a piece of wrought iron rod, steel-tipped boots, and a really bad attitude.