We came to Southwestern Virginia to rest. A homecoming for me, a new, more restive place for Amy, raised in the city and used to the hustle and bustle of urban life.
After 25 years in Washington and nearly 40 years on the road, I longed for the sedate life in Floyd, a chance to restore my creative juices, work on a long-neglected documentary and just take life a little easier.
So why am I falling asleep on the living couch at night, exhausted from another long day that began before the sun came up and ended long after it went down?
Because I’m an idiot who just can’t say no to people when they ask for something, be it serving on a board, taking on a civic project or just “coming out and taking a few pictures.” My schedule looks as crowded as it did in the old days.
A little over a week ago, I came in the door late on a Friday night, exhausted from a long day at FloydFest, dehydrated from eight hours on my feet, walking back and forth on the 75 acre site photographing the various events.
Amy suggested a long soak in the hot tub and lots of water to drink. Instead I fell asleep on the couch only to be jarred awake at 1 a.m. by scream-rendering cramps on both legs. An hour later, the rolling cramps in the backs of my calves subsided and I tried to sleep again, only to be seized by cramps an hour later. Finally, Amy helped me to the hot tub where I soaked for more than an hour and drank nine bottles of water. Then I finally slept — until noon the next day.
A 58-year-old man with a bad hip, two bad knees and a screwed-up ankle can’t keep up the same pace that drove him through 40 years of journalism, travel and adventure.
Something’s got to give but, at the moment, I’m too tired to deal with it.