Two teens, two senior citizens and I went walking in Manhattan. Who was ready to pass out first? Who was in the most pain the next day?
The answer may surprise you.
The Adventurer and I took the train into the city last Saturday with Grandma and Grandpa and my nephew -who I’ll refer to as the Rock Star.
We walked. We looked at Christmas decorations. We wandered through Times Square where my dad was pictured with the always famous and beloved Mouse. I was tempted to get my picture taken with Iron Man, but knowing that it wasn’t the real Iron Man, I didn’t bother.
We walked through Rockefeller Plaza, where we were slammed up against a store window in classic NYC human gridlock. It’s something everyone should experience at least once, because seeing your life flash before your eyes and getting a sense of how it would feel to be crushed to death helps you appreciate the life you have.
We had a blast. I don’t know why people complain about teens. I enjoy their antics, their immature sense of humor and their bad language.
Not sure what that says about me, but whatever man.
They posed for a picture in front of these huge Christmas balls. Yes, there were plenty of jokes about that.
Then they checked to see if the giant Nutcracker was anatomically correct. He was not.
After a few hours of walking, the teens started to complain a lot. Their legs hurt. They were hungry. How much longer are you going to make us walk? My legs are going to are going to fall off. Can we please take a pedi-cab?
You couldn’t pay me to ride in one of those things. Real NYC cabs are dangerous enough. I’m not putting myself or my child in a rickshaw with a bike and hoping for the best on the streets of Manhattan during the busiest season of the year.
So the kids were the first to beg for mercy from the high pace. Grandma and Grandpa were fine. I was exhausted, but kept quiet about it.
And the next day, I was hurting the most. My back hurt. My legs hurt. My feet had blisters. It was a big win for the seniors. Epic fail for the teens. As for me, I have an excuse. I blame it all on Lyme.