A review of the State of My Body over the last three days, since my first football game of the year:
Saturday: Oh, this is nothing! All parts reporting ready for duty, sir. A little hungover, but that’s okay.
Sunday: Well, it’s awful nice of my body to alert me to the existence of so many small muscles I otherwise wouldn’t notice. Like that two-square-inch patch of muscle in my middle back that feels like a rubber band being snapped whenever I move, or that place that used to be the back of my right knee and is now an 80-year-old rusty door hinge. At least the pains are isolated.
Monday: Sweet heavenly grace, make it stop! I swear I had functioning limbs once. Just a couple of days ago, I think.