I Am Now An Old Man

I am Brock's bruised coccyx.

And yes, that may be the second time that I've used the word coccyx in a blogpost. Come on now people, I'm cultured, I'm not snickering under my breath or thinking the word "giggity" at all. I'm more mature than that.

At least I think I am.

For full effect, download "When You Are Old And Grey" by Tim Lehrer and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

I think that's the way that I feel after today, old and grey. See kids, there once was a time when I was young and chipper and full of vibrance. I had the tempo of a hummingbird on steroids. I had so much energy that I made Pee-Wee Herman look like he was on phenobarbital.

But those days are all over. Take this afternoon for instance, as I was out shredding the gnar, (And yes B.E.P. Longhorn, I said that just for you). While approaching a jump I misread the lip and took a tail dive right for my tail bone. It wasn't that traumatic of an injury, but due to the fact that I am now an old man, the rest of my week is going to be doused with Icy Hot and pillows on my chairs at work.

I know, I am officially an old man. A tender one at that.

What has happened? I have no clue. I miss the days when I could face plant into a set of bleachers and shake the pain off like Hercules in his teens. I miss the high octane levels of testosterone flowing through me that motivated basketball games at three am. I miss not dozing off at two in the afternoon because my work schedule was so brutal (insert sarcasm here).

But those days are over, and here I sit awkwardly as a bruised up 26-year old who has no idea how much more pain and abuse that this physical specimen I am planted in can take. It's times like these when I wish I was ten years younger and had the attention span of a houseplant combined with a body dipped in the river Styx.

Its also times like these when I wish that I had a wife who was a professional masseuse. Because man, does my coccyx need one right now.

Please, no giggity.

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