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Aches I used to road march in shit like this, I said, pointing to the streaming white. Then my knees creaked, and I couldn't climb a flight of stairs without hot, wheezing pain snorting from flared nostrils, snot threatening to smear my good shirt fresh from the dryer. I cry for nitroglycerin and wonder if EMS will have to electrocute me. At the summit, I gasp and sputter each Saint through thick saliva. God, I'm old.