My son, Lyle, is a swimmer. Like pro golfers, swimmers make it look easy. Like anybody could do it. I mean, how hard could it be?
[Anecdotal data about how flipping hard it could be: yesterday Mark swam 2.5, I swam 10, and Lyle swam 30 “100’s” in an hour. It’s plenty hard.]
In golf, at least there’s a snack cart.
The good news is that this physical activity doesn’t hurt my knee. The bad news is that people in Natchitoches have seen me in active swimwear.
And I woke up at 3 am with a crippling headache. I was sure it was a brain-eating amoeba or a stroke. No doubt I’d be dead by sunrise, leaving Mark with all my lottery winnings.
When I got up to get some medicine, my head quit hurting. But when I laid back down, the pounding returned. I got back up to make sure I wasn’t imagining things, besides Lotto jackpots.
My dipping bird imitation woke Leah up. She came in our room and made herself right at home in the middle of the bed.
My headaches gone this morning and I got a new seat for my bicycle. Think I’ll give that a whirl today. I mean– How Hard Could It Be?