As I lay here in bed, laptop propped up against bent knees, I feel relieved. It would be even better if I could go back to sleep, but given the situation...I'll take relieved.
As I press the small button on my Timex Ironman digital watch, the soft Indiglo blue light reveals that it is 0445 hours...that's a quarter 'till five in the morning. In all honesty, I'd rather be somewhere else...almost anywhere else right now. Some place free from the impending computer generated voice that is sure to be emanating, any moment, from the dispatch system within the firehouse, telling me it's time to make the donuts...so to speak.
Yep, that's right...I'm at work.
What in the world does this have to do with aging athletes? Very little, if anything. I did set out on this literary journey however, clearly stating that there would be random thoughts thrown about here and there. This is one of those times.
I was sleeping soundly...well, as soundly as possible in a firehouse...when the red LED panel in my bunk-room lit up, and the soft, computer-generated female voice entered into my dream...
"Ladder 131, channel K-6, injured person, 10601 West Something, Something Drive, Ladder 131, K6."
In an instant, I was awake - realizing that the voice in my head...wasn't really in my head. It was coming from the overhead speaker in my room. It was time to get up...again.
The need to urinate became quite apparent. In a matter of seconds, I had an hour long debate with myself as to whether or not I should take the time to go pee before heading out to the truck. I've had this debate many, many times over the last twenty-three years. It's always the same outcome. I never stop to go pee.
Why?
Someone is having an emergency. They called 911, expecting us to show up at their house and take care of business...and they want us there ten-minutes ago. In my line of work, the time it takes to go pee could, quite literally, mean the difference between life and death. Especially if we're talking about an aging athlete like me. There, I made the correlation.
You see, at age forty-eight...I just don't pee like I'm nineteen anymore. It's one of those things that happens to aging athletes like us...it's part of life I suppose.
So...what that means is that many a night, I can be found bouncing down the road in the middle of the night, in a firetruck...desperately needing to go pee.
It's a glorious job - someone's gotta do it.
Here's the interesting thing. I do this multiple times throughout a typical night at the firehouse. I don't drink water between emergency calls...yet I have to pee upon returning from every call. It's not just me either...we all do it.
I have a theory that all firefighters have weak bladders. Maybe weak isn't the right term. Pavlovian comes to mind here. It seems as though we have trained our bodies to urinate frequently over the years...some sort of protective mechanism, I suppose. Interesting.
As I mentioned earlier - I do feel relieved. We took care of business, made Mrs. Smith feel better...then rushed home so we could all go pee.
Like I said...it's a glorious job, and someone's gotta do it!
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