My deer stand sat half-bolted in the same tree for two hunting seasons. Everybody figured I'd been busy. The reason had nothing to do with my schedule.
Let me ask you something first.
How many mornings this season have you climbed down earlier than you wanted to, because your legs were done before the hunt was?
How many times have you told the guys you had somewhere to be, when the truth was your legs just wouldn't hold?
How many times have you shifted your weight in the stand just to work some warmth back into your feet?
If you're nodding along, you already know the feeling.
I'm not a doctor. I'm just a guy who's spent thirty years in the woods, and I want to tell you what I wish somebody had told me two years ago.
It started small.
You climb up in the dark, get settled, and by the time the light comes gray through the trees your legs have already gone heavy on you.
Not tired. Heavy, like somebody swapped them out for a pair made of lead while you weren't looking.
Then the cold sets in from the knee down, the kind that goes through boots and two pairs of socks like they're not even there.
I told myself it was the weather, or maybe just sitting still too long. Thirty years of miles finally catching up - and maybe some of that was true.