In the hike to old age, acceptance of frailties is difficult
As we laced up our hiking shoes and boots for a day hike recently, my buddy imparted his newest principle.
Because we are men of a certain age, many of our body parts are reaching or exceeding their expiration date and are in need of repair or replacement. These breakdowns have now become a common topic of conversation.
The discussion goes like this:
Him: “How’s your shoulder doing, any more problems?
Me: “It only hurts when I go to bed at night.”
Him: “That’s too bad.”
Me: “Yeah, I wake up with a searing pain even though I’m not doing anything. Just lying there. How’s your (pick a body part to continue the conversation)?”
The fight
I’ve always been impressed by friends or acquaintances who seem ageless, genetically inclined to live long and prosper. They are the ones on the dance floor at the wedding that somehow look cool when group dancing with the youngsters. I look like the Tin Man before they oiled his rusted joints.
More of us settle into gritty and extended fights against the aging process – earlier for some than others, unfortunately. We fight back with creams, exercise, diet and stretching. We tape knees, toes and shoulders. We swallow pain medications and vitamins in search of extra vitality which, quite frankly, some of us didn’t even have when we were younger. Don’t take too many pain meds or you’ll be forced to pop a laxative.
It’s a vicious cycle where the unintended consequences of doing something you think will help instead causes more pain, discomfort or lack of sleep.
Under the knife
When all else fails there’s always surgery. How about a new hip, shoulder or knee? When the operation works, the results are amazing. When something goes wrong and, despite all of the pain and rehab, nothing is better, that’s a huge downer.
There’s a reason Ponce de Leon went looking for the fountain of youth. He probably had tendonitis after hacking his way through the swamps of Florida, or hemorrhoids from all of that time at sea without decent food. Although he never found what he was looking for in the 1500s, he did start a great advertising campaign for the elderly to visit the state.
Here’s another option, brought to us by the brothers Grimm. If you want to be attractive and ageless, find some old short guys to hang out in the forest with because you’ll always look great compared to them.
The art of acceptance
Which brings me back to my friend’s new motto for living: “accepting atrophy.” His cure for the continuing decline of his human features and functions is to be accepting because it is all part of a natural process.
As he’s exercised this new mantra, my friend has vowed to not attempt strenuous or awkward things that he might have gotten away with when he was younger, like wading across a raging runoff-swollen stream or scaling a hillside littered with loose rock to explore a cave. He’s dialed back his expectations and seems happy with his surrender, rather than be the guy on the golf course cursing because his tee shots are 20 yards shorter than they used to be.
I admit to machismo withdrawal symptoms as well. “Need a hand with that cooler,” someone young will occasionally ask me, and I say yes and thank you. If no one volunteers, I hunt down someone young and make them help me. I’m not going to risk a hernia or sore back for a box full of cold beverages, and that’s saying something because I like my drinks cold.
But then I think of the saying by gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson which, granted, is not a great person to be taking life advice from, but I still enjoy the concept.
“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, ‘Wow! What a ride!’ ”