"It was the summer of my 69th year when my body began to betray me." This refrain has been floating through my mind for days now, weeks even. It sounds like it should be the opening sentence of a book, don't you think? Or even the beginning line of a song. It is both of these--It is the story of my life and the words of a song permeating my being.
My Father was a muscular beast of a man. His stature wasn't overly large, but he was a picture of strength and sinewy muscle. He cut his eye-teeth on hard, physical labor. As a young man he and his brother sold fire-wood, cut by hand with a cross-cut saw. I remember watching him as a little girl as he wielded gunny sacks filled with grain and countless numbers of bales of hay. To say the farming kept him active and strong is a gross understatement.
Another memory stands out in my mind. He was an older man then, probably in his 70's, dressed in his Sunday best. As he showed me his upper arm he referenced my Grandfather. "I remember when Granddad told me he had lost his muscle tone," Dad said. The same thing had happened to him. I'm not sure if he was preparing me or just sharing.
And here I am. The gardening keeps me active. I haul equipment in and out of my truck every day, carry bags filled with debris and dispose of them as well. On occasion I have flexed my bicep to verify the physical labor involved. However, a change is taking place in my body. As with my Father and my Grandfather, the muscle tone is diminishing. "Buff" is not a word applied to those in my age group. We may be described as being strong or active, in good shape, with the qualifier "for his/her age," but very rarely are we labeled "buff."
Much of my work is done for those who are my age. Aging and change are often part of our discussions. One client recounted the body parts that are bothering her--shoulder, hands, feet, back. Another friend categorizes all the changes and maladies as O. A., old age. Ever since I did my faceplant in the street I have been more conscious of my knees than ever before. One cannot splat shamelessly on all fours and not have some after effects. There was no injury, but the knees were tender and, two weeks later, the abrasion is just now healed.
I have always been fascinated by life's cycles, how we end up not far off from where we began, often going full circle. When my son was born 6 weeks prematurely I learned the lungs are the last to fully develop before birth. There were no neo-natal ICU's 50 years ago, only incubators. I remember watching his tiny chest move up and down like a hummingbird's wings. Later on in life I learned the lungs are often the last to give out when one is dying. How many times have you heard of pneumonia as a cause of death?
Flexibility, agility, strength, balance, co-ordination--These are all things that infants learn and master. They are the very same things which become fragile as we age. Reality is always another story, and I'm not sure if I still view these cycles as fascinating.
The body does betray us as we age. Those things we once relied on, expected, and even took for granted are no longer there. However, in addition to the theme song playing through my mind another passage has countered. It is this: "Bodily exercise profits little; but, be spiritually fit." I am a poster child for the first part. I am also one who has great disdain for exercises in futility so I am placing all bets and all of my focus on the second part. For me it as a win, win.
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