“Forty, huh?  Jess you’re really getting to be an old fart,” Jack Rosell said to me one day at work.  It must have been near my birthday.   How else would he have thought to remind me of my age? It wasn’t my birthday that made him think of me as an old fart.  Strange he should think of me that way.  After all, in a couple of years he would be my current age.  Jack and I were pretty good friends and he liked to rib me about most anything he thought of.   

Jack and I had some things in common.  We worked in the same section where I saw him every day.  We each had a wife named Mary.  He had two kids about the ages of my older two.  At noon we boarded his Volkswagen beetle, and headed home for lunch.  He dropped me at my house on his way home. 

On every occasion that I entered Jack’s house, I was greeted by Tauser, his noisy Chihuahua.  His greeting endured for so long as I stayed.  Needless to say, I seldom tarried there long.  I think Tauser must have liked me.  Why else would he have talked to me so long? 

“You ought to take up jogging,” Jack said to me one day, “It’ll be good for you; get you in shape.” 

“My shape’s OK,” I said. 

“Maybe, but it could be better.  Tell you what; I’m a good sport, I’ll go with you,” he said. 

“I don’t need all that exercise.  I climb the stairs every night on my way to bed,” I assured him.  I had run the mile race for the high school track team, but that was a quarter century before. “Be ready at 6:30 tomorrow morning.  I’ll be at your house.  Since you live half a block from the park, we can start there.” 

“He wants to jog, and wants me to keep him company.  Maybe it’s lonely to jog alone,” I told myself.  Nevertheless, I got up early and stumbled around, half asleep, and got dressed.  I soon heard a “beep-beep” in the driveway.  I struggled out to see a dude, standing in darkness by the beetle, decked out in his jogging togs, and chomping at the bit to begin the agony. 

“Good morning, oh Thou with the silver tongue,” I said,  “Let’s go easy to start this venture.  I’d hate to crap out the first day.” 

We trotted off down the street and entered Faurot Park where we soon came upon a paved loop road, about a half-mile around.  This was our jogging course.  As we started around the loop, it seemed not so bad.  Just trotting along was easy enough.  Soon, however, my legs began to tire a little bit, but not bad, I thought.  The next thing I noticed was that oxygen seemed to get thinner.  We should be getting close to the end, but we were only half way around the loop.  We continued on and the air got thinner and thinner, and my legs had a little ache as we went. 

“This sure feels great, huh, Jess?” 

“Absolutely wonderful,” I lied, “Twould be even better if we’d not use it up quite so fast, huff puff.” 

“Same time tomorrow,” said Jack when we finally struggled back to our start.  I just didn’t have the breath to spare to answer him. 

We repeated our performance the next day, but it seemed that my legs were a little stiff and sore.  It must have been my imagination.  Surely that little bit of exercise couldn’t affect me.  During the days that followed we ran a little farther each day.  The soreness in my legs increased, and then began to subside until the agony was more tolerable. 

The start of our second week was more dramatic.  I ran along a grassy strip of ground near the end of our run.  Without warning I stepped into a hole, made invisible by the overgrowth of grass.  I winced with pain that gripped my knee.  I managed to hobble home, expecting the pain to abate. After a day at work, a nagging ache remained. 

With encouragement from my wife I decided to give the doctor a chance to enhance a cure.  After poking around my knee for a while the doctor brought out a vial of cortisone and a big needle.  I, like a big dummy, sat there and let him ram the needle into the joint.  Whereas, before the remedy, the knee hurt when I moved it, it now ached with vengeance.  Another week passed before the ache stopped. 

Jack continued his jogging, at least for a while, but without my company.   My jogging career was at an end.  They say that vigorous exercise is good for one, but jogging was too dangerous for me, so I decided to stick to stair climbing at bedtime.