Grit…

This morning, after a nice 5 miler talking to my good friend (George age 82), I was headed for the showers when Doc Bob stopped me to say hello. He recently had hip replacement surgery and his quad was tight as a guitar string, he told me. I walked over to Doc and asked him how old is he. “80,” he replied with a smile. “My doc told me I wasn’t allowed to work out yet, but here I am,” he continued.

Then he seared me. “Sometimes, Chet, you just gotta grit your teeth.”

Without so much as pausing, he looked me in the eye with a little twinkle in his and asked me if I wanted to know how he celebrated his 80th. “Of course,” I told him thinking he probably traveled somewhere beautiful or something. I should have known better. “Did 80 pull-ups,” he said. “Not all at once, mind you. I did ten at a time with a minute rest in between.” I smiled and gave him a well deserved fist bump. We think we’re doing something when we chin our age down in the relative youthful 3PP. We got no idea. Doc went on to tell me a couple more stories about his childhood that had me laughing and making another mental note to self to stop complaining – ever.

Sometimes, my friend, you just gotta grit your teeth…