Recovering

Over the last two days I've been paying for my six laps on Monday. My previously injured thigh seems to have come through the experience in reasonably healthy condition but whatever muscles lurk at the tops of my legs, sort of between the legs in that unpleasantly intimate way certain bits of one's body have about them, have been declaring their presence since Tuesday morning.

If childhood might be partly characterised as a process of exploration and discovery regarding the potential of the body and mind, late middle age sees the whole thing in reverse - a time for realising that things really do fall apart. And things are not going to get any better soon.

This all sounds terribly glum, I know, but there's something rather comforting in the inevitable decrepitude implied. It speaks of rest, containment, an odd sort of peace.