Yesterday, I awakened early and cycled my usual route: 8.9 miles of early uphills followed by exhilarating downhill coasts taking in the broad sweep of the Pacific.
I returned home in time to enjoy breakfast with my wife, then took up a spot on the couch that is perfectly aligned with the sun's autumn path to enable me to soak up maximum warmth from the rays of sunlight that streamed in through the dining room windows.
I'd checked the surf report the prior evening, and while there was no upcoming swell, there was a predicted mid-morning low tide perfect for tidepooling and pebble collecting. Armed with this knowledge, I enticed my son to get out of reading in bed in order to head to a nearby beach known to our family as a treasure trove of tide-polished fragments of translucent crystals.
The day before, I'd used my new-to-me used 4/3 wetsuit to catch a mid-morning swell timed to be optimized between low and high tide. The water was a balmy 58 degrees, and each paddle was akin to submerging a hand in a bucket of icewater. I lasted just under an hour before the shivering forced me back to shore.
The day before that, I'd used the yoga mat the kids ostensibly needed for socially distanced physical education classes from home for situps and pushups done to the Def Leppard's greatest hits.
I exercise almost every day, but what appears to be commitment is really a variant of "do no harm;" I select my workouts to avoid injuring whatever body part hurts the worst the night before.
Painful feet respond to icing, which is basically bodyboarding in the winter.
Back pain triggered by situps is usually kept at bay with a bike ride.
Ankle or knee strain is allowed to heal with a morning of situps and pushups.
Call it the transitive property of middle aged aches and pains.