When I told them the word for the week is "old", M said a doctor told her that if you're going to have a health problem, it'll show up between the ages of 50-60. If nothing crops up, you're golden. So far so good? She's in her 70s and skateboarded a computer stand down the hallway. I hope I'm doing that well when I'm her age. No, I wish I was doing as well as her now.
I have creaky knees and sore feet from a lot of walking, climbing, hefting, and shoving this week. It reminds me of my 30s when I felt old, fat, and depressed from an unhappy marriage and divorce.
I sat at a picnic table in the park with Betty, watching a flock of girls run across a field. Betty sighed. She was old enough to be my mother and said she'd never run like that again. She used to love running and Scottish dancing. She even took a trip to Scotland to dance. Her loss of ability hit me in a powerful way.
|Added dogwood flowers|
Something major shifted in my thoughts that day. I was sorry Betty couldn't run, but I still could. I didn't have to limit myself, and Betty was thrilled for me when I told her about it. She laughed and clapped when I danced with her son around the living room.
I put myself on a diet and got out and lived. I looked and felt better in my 40s than in my 30s. I danced a lot. Once in a while I run in the backyard just to keep proving to myself that I still can, and I remember Betty and thank her for teaching me a valuable life lesson.
Painting my floor vividly reminds me that deep knee bends should happen more than once a decade. The floor has gotten farther away than it used to be and I'm unwilling to say this is the last project like this that I'll be able to do because I'm getting too old. It's time to take my physical life in hand again.