Golf and fun

Went golfing again this weekend. Ismael and Alex drove down to Stockton from San Jose and Sacramento respectively. Did one round on Saturday and two on Sunday. All four of us, Carlos included, went to the local golf course and managed not to get kicked out. Kicked ass on the first round, and barely won the next two. Alex got crazy after the last round on Sunday and started the usual shit talking, I was drunk so I took the bait and we argued like a fucken married couple. Good times.



EZ's nice looking finish


Carlos brought his son on Sunday.



The boy was very well behaved and seemed to have fun. This was the 3rd time we golf in the last month, so we are officially hooked on this thing. At the end of the night on Sunday the Alcohol had flowed to the point that we agreed to meet on Monday and get in another round (everybody is on vacation except moi), but I had way too much weekend and was the first one to fake the funk on the nasty dunk.

old man

I have seen some unusual things while going to my gym for the past few years. Among many things I have: seen way to much nudity (u try to get your potassium while another dude is parading his junk in front of you), witnessed domestic violence, have been given an inappropriate compliment about my genitals and last but not least I have had a middle age man die of a heart attack in my arms. Nothing had struck me as thought provoking until yesterday.

I saw an old man make getting undressed/dressed a forty five minute odyssey. I walked past him yesterday as I arrived. I noticed him because he was moving unusually slow and he smiled at me. I ran for a half hour and went to the lockers to change my shirt...that's when I noticed he was still getting ready to come out. It wasn't that he was old or how much pain his face showed with each tiny effort. He seemed to me like he was once a proud strong man and this was slowly chipping away at his dignity. Guilt arose from the half hour run I had put myself through on a pretty bum knee. I started wondering if the constant abuse of my joints would get me a similar fate. As soon as I caugh myself staring I tried to stop, but could not. I wanted him to catch me staring and somehow reassure me that it was alll worth it. "Go ahead and run a marathon on a joint with no cartilage , lift weights with a suspect rotator cuff".

He never noticed me. He was much too busy attempting balance himself and aiming at the shorts he was wrestling with and losing to.