It’s 1-13-16 and many of my goals for the year are in jeopardy. On 1-4-16 I decided I would begin the week by being productive, one of my major goals for the year. Really maintain and dig into the “honey-do” list that I will need another life time to complete. Do my five miler and then load my chainsaw, axe and maul onto my tractor. Time to cut and split a little wood and clean up some deadfall along with it. “Get back to my self-reliant roots!” No problem. I got a great little chainsaw, cuts like a “hot knife through butter.” Light and modern, its anti-vibration technology allows me to cut forever…if I so desire. The axe and maul on the other hand…and there lies the problem I think.

I had cut, split, loaded and unloaded about a pick-up load of wood when it hit me…or grabbed me later in the day. My hip is a little sore and became increasingly so. I had felt this pain before and knew it would gradually work its way down my leg. I joked with my wife, “If I can walk in the morning I’m going to….” I don’t remember what I was going to do because it became a moot point. While I could walk, it was too painful to want to. Recliner to bathroom was about as far as I could go. SCIATICA!!! I’ve had it before. Usually after the Wednesday practice of the first week of baseball season. Too much torqueing due to hitting ground balls or throwing batting practice. Narrowing of the spine due to…AGE! Funny not, I don’t feel old…most of the time. I know my knee is shot but mentally, when I sitting in my recliner, I don’t feel old…until I get up and go look in the mirror. “You don’t look too bad for…AN…OLD…GUY. Right. It took me five days of Advil and stretching, along with hot and cold treatments, to get over this. No walking, no exercise and no productivity.

Finally, I feel great. It’s 1-11-16 one week and one day since my attack of sciatic began and three days since it ended. I’m going to do an easy three and one half miler and then go out with my weed eater and a rake and do a little preparation for spring in my yard. Just maybe fifteen minutes with the weed eater and another fifteen with the rake. Just to test things out…I wonder if it is going to take me a week to get over this bout. I am at a loss. I refuse to give in to my age. Let’s see, there are only fifty-two Mondays in the year. That’s not a lot of productivity and will make a very small dent in my “honey-do” list. Being laid up in the hospital will make me even less productive. Decisions, Decisions.