Sometimes the ageing process creeps up to give a brutal reminder of the current state of affairs. This happened recently when I had the ambition to leap across a babbling brook. Not just any babbling brook, this was on an idyllic tropical island with golden sands. None of that description is truly relevant, I just wanted to paint a picture of a relaxed atmosphere inducing reduced responsibility.
Back at the babbling brook it was tracking a furrow across the sand to the sea and blocked my onwards progress. Devious thoughts sprang to mind, was this fresh water running from a stream towards the sea, or more probably a drain with strange nasty things in it. I opted for the safer option and regarded it as probably hostile. It needed jumping. No worries, I would take a short run at it and leap across.
Regretfully this part of the plan lacked substance. Half way across, it was about 1.5 metres, came the realisation several vectors had been miscalculated. The speed of approach was a little lower than required; the effect of wind resistance and rotation of the earth had also been completely overlooked. The downward trajectory thus began ahead of schedule. Although the leading foot made reasonable contact with the far side, the sudden impact caused the sandy edge of the brook to collapse followed by the crumpling mass of yours truly. Not a pretty sight even though I effected an excellent roll out. The earth and I renewed our acquaintance rather abruptly. Stunned although not defeated I surveyed the situation, realigned the body to the vertical, brushed off the sand, gave my best look of ‘nothing to see here’, and strode on implying a new standard of brook jumping had been established.
Image courtesy of tuelekza at freedigitalphotos.net