There we sat, a couple of old folks at the home place late at night, just visiting, talking over our day.
The kids have long ago left the nest and hatched their own young’uns in five different states. Our conversation touched on our next trip to visit family and our preparations for it.
We shared news on folks we knew that one or the other of us had not seen in a while, which lead to a conversation about the aging process.
“He was only 35 and he looked and acted ‘old,’” my husband said, recalling a friend from Indiana.
“It is odd how it works. I have talked with people years younger than me who declare they are ‘old’ and have begun to change their lives accordingly. Do you realize Mr. and Mrs. XYZ are younger than me and they have rolled up their lives, packed it in and expect to be treated accordingly?”
We shook our grey and greying heads in amazement. We enjoy our senior benefits, but we still refuse to admit we qualify for “old.” We simply have too many projects to do and too many places to visit to pull out the rocking chairs.
How did those other people get to be so old, we wonder?
I remember my grandfather, slumped over his seat, thin as a rail. He sold the farm to my uncle in his 60s, stepping away from the daily duties while retaining rights to the tractor seat. Smoking and too many years of harvesting grains left him with emphysema.
In his middle age, my other grandfather shored up his anticipation of the years ahead and said “no Waight man has ever lived beyond 65.” He said it until he was about 60, then he stopped. At 75, he was walking up to a house to sell produce from the back of his truck, had a massive heart attack and died, literally, with his boots on.
Some decline to travel due to age. At three-score and ten my aunty took her cane and flew to Europe to visit her daughter. At four-score and more, aunty joined a study of the effect of physical fitness of the elderly. Three times a week, she worked with a trainer. Now she can once again bend at the knees to get something off the floor. By the end of the study, everyone commented that she looked better, fitter and healthier. She talked up a storm about the gym.
I know the feeling. She and I are not much athletically. We would rather do something else, thank you very much. But, but, but … there is the reality that if you don’t move it, you will lose it.
My husband and I have paid our dues to healthy living. We have done the grinding, horribly boring thing of eating sort of sensibly (we both like our sweets), have added way, way more fruits and vegetables to our diets than we ever considered in our youth. I have even learned to like broccoli and there was no way I would have eaten that as a child.
Worse, we have actually joined my aunty in realizing the benefits of “moving” with exercise, walking or weights – just do something.
So I walk. I check my steps on my step counter. After a couple of dedicated months, I realized, “the pain in the back, the pain in the leg has disappeared.” I doubt that is the final answer, yet evidently that Internet article I read proved its worth. It said that a research study compared a year of back exercises with a year of adding a half hour of regular walking. At the end of the year, both reaped equal benefits.
Astonishing. Just me getting up, off my duff, standing up straight as I walk around and I have dissipated one of my age-related issues … at least for now.
My husband, who is much more into exercise than I am, has an off-again, on-again affair with the Champagnolle Landing. He really would rather be puttering around on one of his many projects.
We admit we are not spring chicks. We no longer drive into the wee hours of the morning when traveling. We no longer think we have to do absolutely everything ourselves. The television stays off (now that the March madness has ended) as we prepare for our next trip, work on our next project, prepare for our next lesson to teach the children at church or just enjoy sitting up late talking with each other, as we did when we first met.