BOB KORNEGAY: Not quite as easy as it once was

A while back, with little else to do, I watched an episode of “The Price Is Right” in a motel room. Hey, stop snickering. There’s a point here. Besides, I was rained in.

So, I’m watching the show, and this one college kid wins one of host Drew Carey’s “fabulous prizes.” The young man leapt about 10 feet, straight up. Alighting, he ran wildly to and fro, hugging and kissing everyone onstage except Drew, who prudently moved off camera to avoid being trampled.

In contrast, the next contestant was about my age. This dude could barely mount the first step leading up from “Contestants Row.” In fact, Carey, who doesn’t look in such great shape himself, had to reach out and extend him a helping hand.

The guy won a Cadillac. He demonstrated his excitement by smiling and clapping his hands. No leaps, springs or backflips. No models got pawed and no cameramen got smooched. I understood perfectly, as perhaps do some of you.

Remember when we jumped into the boat to go fishing? Now we step off the dock very gingerly, praying for the wind not to blow the bow from under us and hoping against hope we don’t trip, fall and bash out our brains on the trolling motor. And what about standing up to “go” after sitting out there on the lake a couple of hours? It used to be easy. Now we just yearn to arise quickly enough to make it to the back of the boat in time.

I recall leaping like a gazelle over small streams and ditches. If I jump now, it is not a leap at all. It is a crippled hop followed by a loud splash. Afterward, if the water’s the least bit cool, there is likely to occur a high-pitched squeal. Lately I’ve taken to limping up or downstream until I come to a spot where the bank is not steep and the water shallow enough to safely wade.

It used to be, “Don’t forget the bait or the shotgun shells.” Now it’s “Check one more time to see if I remembered the arthritis pills.”

Not that many years ago, I thought nothing of running a half-mile or so through muck and mud just to get to a deep-swamp deer stand before daybreak. Lately my deer-hunting plans always include thoughts of whether or not I can easily drive my truck to a downed deer should I see and shoot one. Seeing deer isn’t a given like it once was, either. On one recent hunt, I spooked a nice buck when my neck cracked like a .22 rifle shot as I turned my head to one side.

Did you ever see a fat, arthritic 64-year-old sit suddenly upright in a sunken duck blind after lying there on his back for 45 minutes? The resulting moan sounds a lot like the sound effects in a 1950s horror movie. Incoming mallards 50 yards away will scatter in panic.

Chasing bird dogs or coonhounds? Forget it. Jumping from boulder to boulder in a trout stream? No way. I tell you, it’s enough to get a fella down if he lets it.

Sometimes, though, there are still flashes of the old brilliance. Not too long ago, for instance, I stepped painfully up onto a fallen tree trunk and encountered a diamondback rattlesnake on the other side. I wish you’d been there to see the world-class long-jump that ensued. And don’t let anyone tell you the sprightliest 20-year-old can hold a candle to me when I’m fleeing afoot from a late-summer thunderstorm.

Nope, I don’t run and jump as much as I used to. But that sure as heck doesn’t mean I can’t if the need arises. On the other hand, all bets are off if the needs arise too close together. It takes a while to get over those leaps and dashes these days.

It takes a while to get over “The Price Is Right,” too. Thirty minutes in the same position on a cheap-motel mattress takes its toll.

Ouch!