Now I’m Pissed Off!

It’s the game that humbles. As you age it gets tougher. Old injuries start to nag you more and more often. You keep telling yourself there’s hope, that you can improve, that it’s just a head game; you really do have the game for it. You’ve seen it in yourself. You’ve had the days when just about everything went right, when your tempo was spot on, when your swing felt grooved, when everything was consistent and you were confident. There was no second guessing, no extra thought; just doing. Then there are those days where everything goes wrong. No tempo, no consistency, no confidence, no nothing.

My golf game’s been having a lot of the latter lately. It’s the biggest ego buster ever. I have a knee replacement that’s failing. I’m scheduled for revision surgery in April. Not fun. It’s only been 10 years since my first total knee. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ve been dealing with it for over a year now. It’s radically affected my health because it’s effected my ability to exercise. I can barely bicycle, so walking 18 holes is out of the question. I have trouble getting through 18 riding a cart; I’m typically physically and mentally toast after the 12th hole. My weight training has also suffered and that’s something I have loved to do for something like 55 years; it’s become part of who I am! And speaking of who I am, I can’t even think about snow skiing! Ugh!! That was the reason for the first implant to begin with.

Skiing. I wanted to get to Europe last year and fulfill a lifelong dream of skiing in the Alps. Of hitting all those timeless resort towns my aunt and uncle, mom and dad had skied – Wengen, Davos, Zermatt and all the rest. And to top it off, I’m finally over 70 so I can get the ridiculous less than half price lift tickets. Do you know how long I’ve been staring up at those stupid price boards at ski areas looking in envy at the ’70 and Over’ category? It used to be 65. When I got close to that, they raised it. Bastards. Now I’m finally there and I can’t take advantage. It’s killing me!

It’s all been very humbling. I don’t want to admit I’m old or look or move like I’m old, but this knee is making me realize that right now I am all of those things. I am looking forward to a return to activity that the surgery promises, but I’m definitely not looking forward to yet another (for the 8th time) major knee rehab. They’re long, they’re grueling. They take patience and dedication, two things I’m not nearly as good at as I used to be. Then again, I was also a bit crazy when it came to rehab, so maybe this time I’ll just be more conventional. You know, do what the doctor and the physical therapist tell you and nothing more. I was always, ‘well, if three are good six should get me there faster.’ Sometimes, dopey, not always.

So, here I’ve been for several weeks in the sunny golf haven of Palm Desert and I can barely golf. Getting out of the cart can be painful. Come on, you gotta’ be kidding! ‘Sorry pal,’ says my knee, ‘but I’m done so that means you’re done.’ Kiss my ass! This last go round with several of my buddies was three out of four days of golf. I could barely walk to the car afterwards. It’s taken four days of rest just to get my knee to feeling it’s lately normal, shitty self. The one where if I walk slow, carefully place my foot outside heel first and not fully extend, it won’t hurt too much or outright buckle. Not what I was hoping for this trip. Guess I must be living a delusion. I’m hoping my surgeon is the miracle worker everyone always tells me he is. Big time fingers crossed….

If I were a reasonable person I would probably not even be trying to golf or ride a bike. But, as my wife can readily attest, I’ve never been that guy. Never smart enough to accept things as they are, rarely thinking of anything as good enough; one who has taken a lifetime to just begin to accept things I cannot change or control, or embrace the inevitability of unfair things in life. Things that just are; that just happen. Perfection is not part of life, it is the rare exception. Yet, I keep fighting it. Partly, I think it’s the struggle I embrace. But it’s also the rare moment that makes it so special, so wonderful, so worth living through all the other for.

So, that’s what the next operation is. A chance to keep fighting the fight. To stay active, to not admit defeat, to live for another day. I remember when I was young at the end of a day I would still be wanting to do more, and my father would say, ‘There’s always tomorrow.’ But lately I’m left wondering how many tomorrows there are. I feel an earnest need to take advantage of those. We all should.

“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”¹

¹ Dylan Thomas, “Do not go gentle into that good night,” The Poems of Dylan Thomas. New Directions Publishing, 1937.