Old age is that time of life when all the chickens of senseless physiological foolishness we once indulged in come home to roost.
The two things I fear most in life are the loss of eyesight, and the inability to move briskly under my own steam around my world.
I work with some diligence to maintain the latter ability.
Greg Chappell in his book about ageing asked the question;
"Did you ever see your dad run?"
Many of us who grew up in the 1950's never saw our dads break into a canter let alone any heartfelt gallop. For me that is especially poignant because my dad was a gifted harrier (cross-country runner) when he was young.
One of the special memories I have of Globet and Gof's tour of Victoria last year is that we actually ran together on one occasion until we were both completely puffed out. (she was probably pretending) Admittedly it was prompted by being so bloody cold that if we had not run the distance then we may well have perished on the shores of Lake Jubilee.
Someone next day would then have discovered our ice statues and chipped away at them until our mortal remains were discovered.
It was however not the first time that the two of us have run together just for the fun of it, and I hope it was not the last.
Now moving on to a totally different subject.
Human movement can be an exquisitely beautiful thing.
Ice skating, and some performances on television dance programs have been known to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Then there are gymnasts trailing ribbons in "free expression" floor routines.
Cirque du Soleil acrobats.
Pole vaulters converting horizontal speed into vertical defiance of gravity.
The agility, power and athleticism of tennis players.
I however have one special human movement hero.
As a much younger man I would hopelessly try to mimic this West Indian cricketer with his lithe, loping, powerful, graceful accelerating runup before he hurled a cricket ball at 100 miles an hour at some terrified Australian batsman, or in the case of the picture below almost decapitating the captain of an English test team.
Oh, how I loved to watch Michael Holding, the human panther, at work.