Yesterday was the 20th anniversary of master’s rowing (old farts above college age and before the grave) on Cape Cod, and I was graciously invited to make some remarks in light of my august position as the author of The Book of Rowing (which as you know is also celebrating its 20th birthday this year).
I appeared, on time, with a raging case of Delhi Belly picked up on Thursday somewhere in Bangalore, in full perspiration mode due to the high temperatures and general feverish condition. I sat, all muscles clenched, for two hours as part of a panel of extremely distinguished speakers who all entertained the crowd with history, anecdotes, and recounts of races from the past and those to be.
Being on a massive mid-life physical fitness crisis since April 1, I have not missed a single one of the insane CrossFit workouts of the day until yesterday, when I simply could not abide a single sit up. Today was much better, but not less torrid, and I just emerged from my garage gym looking like I had washed overboard and climbed back on deck. I tried, much as I might, to row the erg for 20 minutes, but made it barely 90 seconds when I threw the towel a second day, came inside and popped another Immodium A-D.
Enough disgusting alimentary details for today. I was considering taking it off to further recover, but heck, it turned into a total free-for-all. Until tomorrow and not really caring that there is a new iPhone to be bought, I remain your humble correspondent.