No no no I don’t pigdog no more
My back is too doggone sore
No thank you please
It only hurts my knees
And then I have to crawl to shore
(with only minor apologies to Ringo Starr, as his original song wasn’t much more profound)
How bad is my back?
Lately every morning when I wake up, I go through the whole evolutionary process, from bed worm to upright human being. With my back whinging and whining, I slither off the mattress onto the floor like a primordial air-breathing mud fish. I crawl along the parquet and, as the cramps in my back ease, I evolve onto all fours like a monkey. Then gradually, I stagger upright on my feet like a chimp, and after some time, bipedality becomes my major means of locomotion. I slouch toward my coffee in an Australopithecine slump. Finally, I am at last upright, like a Neanderthal, but it takes takes two cups of coffee for me to reach the Homo sapiens stage, capable of intelligible speech.
Since it takes a relative modicum of alacrity to raise oneself from a prone to upright position (such as occurs in taking off on a wave), I fear I be fast approaching the twilight of my surfing days, otherwise known as the Stand Up Paddle Board.