Chapter 2 - I’m Not Saying I’d Fall Apart The day before yesterday while sitting in CC’s pondering subtly subversive departures from the usual guidebook fare I decided to commit to a program of physical fitness, not having gone jogging since my inguinal hernia repair a few months ago and appreciating the need to be in tip-top form for endurance writing. I don’t care what anyone says or how many gracefully aging starlets proclaim from supermarket tabloid covers “IT’S FAB TO TURN FORTY!”, it’s now a number of years since I did and despite my fair share of heroic effort I can unequivocally state that I’ve yet to uncover a single positive thing about that so-called milestone. Up until then I’d never been sensitive about crow’s-feet and such; had even been a mite critical of those who were. But the Big 4-0 blindsided me completely, rattling the impeccably organized china cabinet of my world view with mid-level Richter scale reverberations. Listen to excerpt read by author. Back