Mustn’t grumble

As old ocean
Grumbles, deep down joints
Are scanning for movement
Not the way it used to be,
When all was young and new,
And lateral movement a daily joy,
Untainted by fear of damage, break-
Age, or flipped wrong-side-up ligaments,
Tendons squeak tensional protest, as
Old edges to a young body complain,
The gym a place of self mutilation and
Torture, eagerly and easily signed up for,
We pay for the privilege of suffering
In company, misery does not want to be
Alone, and so it is, I push my aching muscles and
Protesting joints to their limit, knowing
That body beautiful is not important
Yet being healthy is. Bow down to the
Shrine of self-flagellation that is called
Fitness, bow down and be counted
Head-low, for this is the new age of
Old timers getting into the swing of
Things, oldtimers no longer rule the
World, but we sure as hell can crowd
The gym!

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