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I sustained a very serious high ankle sprain during a slip and fall during the heavy rains last week. Almost snapped my damn left leg.
I have had this injury before, playing high school football at 17. Back then, 4-6 weeks of taking it easy and was good as new. Now, at nearly 50, the doc says eight weeks to four months to "spring back" and maybe surgery is in the offering for ligamental damage.
One of the many thoughts I have had about these circumstances is that as I get older, bugging out is borderline fantasy. Even were I spry and youthful for my advanced middle age, my eyes get worse and the healing takes longer or doesn't happen as well anyway.
Unlike when I was a youth, I now have scads of money. I'm reorienting my prep away from getting out to the cabin east of the WV, and am instead going to begin prepping to stay put. Ammo weight, rifle weight, gear weight, all that, no longer matters. If anything is carrying that crap now it will be my jeep or some future mad max biodiesel project I'm toying with while my leg is elevated.
My ultimate mortality is casting a deeper shadow as I age. Bugging out is for youngsters. I'm making ready for a last stand from now on, or like in the novel The Road, someone and their kid keeping the fire alive will eventually thank my ghost for affording them a respite from the chaos by living high on the remains of my bugging in supplies.
I have had this injury before, playing high school football at 17. Back then, 4-6 weeks of taking it easy and was good as new. Now, at nearly 50, the doc says eight weeks to four months to "spring back" and maybe surgery is in the offering for ligamental damage.
One of the many thoughts I have had about these circumstances is that as I get older, bugging out is borderline fantasy. Even were I spry and youthful for my advanced middle age, my eyes get worse and the healing takes longer or doesn't happen as well anyway.
Unlike when I was a youth, I now have scads of money. I'm reorienting my prep away from getting out to the cabin east of the WV, and am instead going to begin prepping to stay put. Ammo weight, rifle weight, gear weight, all that, no longer matters. If anything is carrying that crap now it will be my jeep or some future mad max biodiesel project I'm toying with while my leg is elevated.
My ultimate mortality is casting a deeper shadow as I age. Bugging out is for youngsters. I'm making ready for a last stand from now on, or like in the novel The Road, someone and their kid keeping the fire alive will eventually thank my ghost for affording them a respite from the chaos by living high on the remains of my bugging in supplies.