The Legend of the Human Tornado Let’s not name him but just say there once was a man whose philosophy on life could be summed up in one phrase: “Why have a little when you can have a lot & then a little more for the road?” He wasn’t a bad man, just a dedicated enthusiast. His body was a temple, sure, but it was the kind of temple that hosted wild, all-night parties with a questionable guest list & a buffet that would make a cardiologist weep. In his twenties & thirties, he was a legend. He could out-eat, out-dance & out-last anyone. His joints were like well-oiled hinges on a castle gate, built for swinging, stomping & the occasional victory lap around a bonfire. Spicy food? A challenge. A ten-hour road trip in a cramped car? A minor inconvenience. He treated his body like a rental car he’d never have to return, racking up mileage with gleeful abandon. The Great Joint Mutiny Then, middle age arrived. It didn’t knock; it let itself in, helped itself to ...