So a certain person I’ve been married to for almost 27 years is turning 50 tomorrow.  Last weekend we cycled 50 miles between Richmond and Charles City County in the Cap-to-Cap fundraiser for the Virginia Capital Trail.  It seemed like the right thing to do pre-50. We had planned to run the Carytown 10k with our children in the a.m. tomorrow on the actual birthday, and I was in the planning stages of a group of us doing Fearless Fridays at  Challenge Discovery‘s  University of Richmond Odyssey course–high ropes and zip lines and such. What’s there to be afraid of anyway? That was the idea. Some of my friends thought I was trying to kill the guy, but I was just trying to keep us young (which of course I still am).

Thursday night while I was in Philadelphia for my summa cum laude sister’s graduation from Temple, my husband outdid any of my plans for his birthday by breaking an ankle in three places and tearing a ligament while playing ice hockey.  So now he’s immobilized in bed, a little uncomfortable (as a doctor might say), or in excruciating pain as a normal person might yelp, awaiting surgery soon. Nothing like getting  a jump on his 50th birthday by turning 80 in the interim.  Poor guy.  No more ice or snow for us. No more fun for a while either.

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