Redefining the concept of aging
What I thought was the 24-hour flu has turned into a two-week cold with rotating symptoms, so every day is a new struggle. Thirty-nine started so strong. I was on the path, working out at the gym, running a couple of times a week, and planning what I’d do with all the time off I had off work in December. Alas, life has other plans. Instead, I’ve deflated onto the couch, where I sweat uncomfortably while reading, and frequently reaching for the box of tissues. I haven’t been this sick for quite some time. Even COVID two years ago didn’t hit me this hard, or this long. The cynical side of me tries to tell me this is my new reality. Get used to it, sister; you’ve had a great run, but now you’re old, and you have to slow down. Two weeks into a cold, and that negative part of my brain is trying to dig me a hole, which would undo the very systems that have kept me mentally and physically fit, healthy, and upbeat about life. I refuse to accept this.
I just finished reading “Outsider: An Old Man, A Mountain and the Search for a Hidden Past” by author/journalist Brett Popplewell who is… 40. So his reflections on aging, staying fit, and being fearless are evident in this lengthy profile of an ultra-marathon trail runner in his late 70s. I loved this quote in Chapter 13: “He was an artist. His trails were his easel, his body his brush. He was underappreciated by those who didn’t like his lifestyle, but like any artist of any repute he had a way of challenging people’s perception of their world. He was determined that through his actions he could redefine our collective concept of aging.”
How will I redefine my own concept of aging through action? I’ve shrugged off comments about running my knees into oblivion, and those came to me when I was in my mid-twenties. My knees, for the record, still function and reflect signs of use, but I’ve tested them to the limit, and I’m pretty happy about how they’ve held up. I want to run a marathon this year, and maybe an epic trail event. On the social side, I plan to volunteer, and get to know my new community here on Lake Huron. And then, of course, pursue the ultimate dream of writing and publishing novels — I have two shitty first drafts of two separate stories. My concept of aging is striving for those 10,000 hours to achieve my own moonshot project (the novel), and then using running, yoga, outdoor shenanigans, etc., to balance all that sitting and creating.
But when there is ambition, there is apathy, and one doesn’t exist without the other; one is the yang, and the other is the yin. Getting sick has aroused my two fears about aging: losing my physical strength and capability to be independent, leading to a lack of energy and becoming a curmudgeon who doesn’t contribute to the betterment of society and the Earth, whose mental facilities decline, which only compounds my prickly disposition and indolence.
These days, when the stairs don’t wind me, and the energy returns for a fleeting moment, I’ll do a 30-minute session of weights and yoga, or I’ll go for an hour walk through the leafless trees. Or I write. This, right here, is keeping me afloat.
The past two weeks have been an exercise in staying still — something I’m not very good at. This time has forced me to read more, sleep more, and embrace boredom. Maybe kicking off 39 like this isn’t so bad because the bar is set so low. I just want to cocoon myself, and wake up healthy and ready to take on the world. When that doesn’t happen, I eat another bowl of chicken soup and watch the glowing red embers in the woodstove.
Yours Truly,
Fearless Forty
Me, out for a walk with Valkyrie, during a spurt of energy.
