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When I decided to get back on the basketball court a few weeks ago, my main concerns involved sprained ankles, blown-out knees, dislocated fingers and minor heart attacks. I had no idea that my Achilles tendons would capture so much of my attention.
I had an interesting revelation last week. After a long absence, I headed downstairs to the gym after work on Tuesday and dragged myself through about a 45-minute workout, including a stint on my old nemesis, the Elliptical Death Machine, and a trip to The Pit, where I got reacquainted with some heavy (for me) iron.
Two of my three brothers have fled the Great North Country already this fall — one to the Gulf Coast of Florida, the other to the desert of Arizona — and the other one will be heading to the Sunshine State in his RV in less than a month. All in a feverish attempt to avoid our four-month adventure called winter. I'm not the most compassionate guy in the room, but I gotta say I feel sorry for them.
My daughter, The Boss Mare, called me from Michigan this morning to report that she'd had a flat tire on…