My general health and physical condition are probably pretty average for a man my age. I say that assuming that average equals a poochy mid-section, sore muscles and high blood pressure.

Everyone my age feels it. I felt it coming on when I turned 40, about a hundred years ago, and I know now that 40-year-olds have no idea about what’s really coming at them like a landslide. And, of course, the 85-year-olds say that about me.

It’s funny how getting older gives a person bragging rights about how tough it is to be old. We say to those younger than us, “Just wait another 15 years. Come back to me when you’ve really got something to cry about.”

When I was young, I could brag about how far and hard I could throw a baseball. From deep left field I could hit the catcher on one hop. Now, when the guys are comparing notes, I brag about things like getting up off the floor, only having to go once in the night, and how I’ve cut down on my sugar intake.

I think that most of us like the idea of living a long life. We want to see the grandkids grow up. We want to enjoy our retirement years. We want to push the finish line down the road as far as possible. There’s only one hitch. We don’t like growing old.

Marion and I are walking through the grocery store aisles. The buggy wheels are squeaking. George Strait is singing about cowboys over the speaker system. There’s a clicking noise coming from somewhere.

“Is that you?” she asks.

“Me, what?”

“That popping noise. You don’t hear it?”

I listen. Sounds like normal grocery store noise to me. We take a few more steps, and there it is. Click. Pop. Click. Pop. A sound in rhythm with my steps.

“Oh, you mean that noise. Yeh, that’s my ankle.”

“Good Lord, you’re not falling apart, are you?”

“Naw. That’s just normal.”

“Doesn’t sound normal to me. Don’t be getting old on me,” she says.

Old bodies make noises. What can I say? Some of them come in the form of grunts out of the mouth. Some come from the bones where the joints are wearing out. Some come from other places that have the capacity to release air at awkward times. It’s guaranteed, the older you get, the more noise you make.

My old Chevy truck that I drove for 16 years had over 480,000 hard miles on her. She already had two years on the road when I got her. She was sleek and shiny at first. Quiet. Tight. Everything worked flawlessly.

But then she got some age on her. She started making a few noises. Nothing mechanically wrong, just a few creaks and grunts here and there. Later on, the headliner sagged in the middle. Half the dash lights went out. The fuel gauge didn’t work. The seats were torn. The steering was a little loose. But to me, she was a faithful and magnificent machine.

So don’t get rid of me. I may squeak and click a little bit, but I’ve got a lot more miles in me, Lord willing.

About a month ago, I became the proud owner of a rowing machine. Don’t laugh. I saw my dad riding his stationary bike in his 80s. Us old guys gotta do something to try and level the playing field.

I hate running. My butt can’t handle the bruises from a bicycle seat. And I’m not joining a gym to do what I could do at home if only I was disciplined enough to do it.

I like walking. Walks are good for me. But I stroll at a snail’s pace thinking about life and stopping to look at flower petals. My style of walking is not going to put my body to any kind of test.

I bought a rowing machine because I watched my oldest daughter compete at the college level. They called it sculling. It took me a while to learn that rowing is one oar per boatman. Sculling is two oars per boatman. A 64-foot narrow boat, pointed like a pencil at either end, gliding through the water is a thing of beauty.

I asked her if getting a rowing machine was a good idea for an old guy. She thought it was a perfect idea. The movement doesn’t jar your joints. Nearly every part of your body gets a workout. It’s a great way to stay in shape.

Notice that she said, “stay in shape.” This phrase implies that some degree of shape already exists. I do have a shape, but it’s not the shape of an athlete. Refer back to my original description of myself as poochy.

“Take it easy at first,” she said. “Work up to a longer routine.”

My rowing machine has a number of settings that determine the difficulty of the workout. I tried a few pulls at the next to the lowest setting. Too easy. I bumped it up to the middle setting.

This is not a high-dollar machine, but it does have an LED screen that gives me some feedback on my workout. Things like time, distance, calories burned, and number of strokes are right there in front of me.

“If you can work up to a mile per session,” she said, “that’ll be a good workout for you.”

So, I thought to myself, “Let’s just see how far I can go in 5 minutes.” That shouldn’t be too difficult. And I did a quarter mile on my first run. I felt great about my new routine.

I stretched out the kinks, went on with the rest of my day without any soreness, and I went to bed feeling like the rowing machine was going to be a good thing.

When I woke up the next morning, I couldn’t move my head. My neck muscles spasmed so hard, I curled up in the fetal position and squealed like a child. I couldn’t leave the house or drive anywhere because I couldn’t turn my head at all without the pain driving me to my knees.

Marion had a lot going on that week. Commitments every day. But she felt so bad for me that she drove back and forth from Newnan three days in a row to take care of me. Ice packs. Hot towels. Muscle relaxers. Food. She did it all.

After three trips to the chiropractor and four weeks of recovery, I’m finally beginning to feel normal again. I was a little nervous this morning, but I figured it was time to get back on that horse. I’m determined that my machine is not going to become a place to hang wet towels and dirty shirts.

So today, I took a second run at rowing. I did two-and-a-half minutes at a lighter setting this time. One thing about old guys is that we ain’t stupid. I know how to recalculate my approach.

I’m not looking to beef up this old body. I’m way past that. I just want to function for as long as I can.

The ice packs are ready just in case.