Oops

     Yesterday at work about did in my legs.

     It should have been no big deal.  I've done it dozens of times: we change all the replaceable light bulbs on the tower in late Fall, breathing on the dice to shade the odds of having to send a rigger up there in the worst of winter to relamp a dead beacon.  The steady-burning sidelights are almost optional.  Each level has three of them and we don't even have to report them if they fail.  A single one out can safely be left for better weather.  But the flashing beacons are a different thing.  They're the brightest lights on the tower, each one with a pair of 640 Watt light bulbs the size of a child's head.  You can lose one of a pair and it's still okay, but if both go out, they've got to be replaced as soon as it is practical.

     So the workers go up with a big bag of new bubs and work their way down.  It takes a few minutes at each level, working in the chill wind, opening the red glass covers on the small side lights, unlatching and hinging open the big beacons, hundreds of feet in the air, careful to not drop anything, swapping the new for the old.

     The tower has an elevator, but the elevator doesn't have any controls in the car.  It's barely got a door, just a scissors gate that pulls across the open side like an old-time baby barrier.  Down at the base of the tower, in the big box that houses the 1950s relays that control the hoist, there's a narrow panel that opens to reveal a disconnect switch and three big push buttons with molded-in labels: UP, DOWN, STOP.  The crew carries radios and I get one of my own.

     Under normal circumstances, once the initial long ride to the highest light is done, I clip the radio to my belt and go on about my other work.  When it's time to move, they call me and I doubletime outside to the controls.  "Ready to move?"
     "Down!"
     "Heading down," and I push the button.
     There's a reason for all that back and forth: there aren't any second chances.  Clearance is tight, with the ladder zipping past a couple of feet from the scissors gate.  Any bit of kit sticking out, a big clip, a loop of rope, can become lethal.

     This time, the crew had three radios.  Two were charged up and ready to go.  One had a bad battery, or maybe it hadn't been seated quite right in the charger overnight.  It worked okay sitting in the charger, but it had to be in the charger or it was inert.  I needed to be within earshot of it.  Outdoors.

     The tower crew layered up before they climbed: long johns, work pants, T-shirt, a heavy shirt over it, coveralls and short jackets, knit caps, gloves.  I was dressed for the site, where the inside temperature runs 60 to 65°F, and I had a winter coat, about mid-thigh length.  My work pants are pretty good, but I haven't had nice heavy ones since Carhartt redesigned their women's double-fronts with lighter denim.  My legs got very cold and I dealt with it by ignoring it.  I was pretty creaky by the time the relamping was done.

     I wasn't in much better shape at the end of the day.  I limped through the grocery picking up stuff for supper.  Pain in my knees woke me up a couple of times overnight.

     This morning I limped my way through a quick shower and snack ahead of the online writing critique group, and had a nice brunch (a cheese, sausage and piparra pepper omelet) between it and the Zoom-session main meeting of the writer's club.  Stood up from my chair after the business meeting and ahead of the month's speaker -- and just about didn't get vertical.  I used the break to take acetaminophen.

     For the speaker, it's cameras and microphones off.  I adjourned to my bed and listened from there.  Dozed off afterwards, woke up pinned down by cats, had supper (Tam ordered in), and have not moved a whole lot.  The damp, chilly weather hasn't helped any.

     Tomorrow is supposed to be nicer.  I'll work on some projects involving motion and see if that helps.  Today, it's OTC painkillers and rest.