Why so wobbly?

Wrapping my head around my uncooperative extremities

Ah, the exuberance of youth.

Every other week I have a session with my personal trainer (yes… you read that right - I am trying hard to stem the outbound flow of youthful vigour, which seems to be gushing away from me faster with each flip of the calendar page…). My trainer, F. is wonderful and kind but also fit enough to compete in Crossfit competitions (when she isn’t flexing her magnificent muscles in bodybuilding events).

You get the idea. I won’t embarrass myself (or F.) by sharing my attempts at drawing her, but suffice it to say she is simultaneously inspiring and just a wee bit intimidating.

These sessions take place at the local Crossfit gym at a time of day that’s usually pretty quiet. So, I can struggle away at my wimpy crunches and teeny weights and gentle rides on the stationary bike without a) witnesses and b) without having to watch a horde of super-fit men and women tossing large weights around to remind me of just how ancient and weak I am fast becoming.

Until tonight. Enter a team of soccer youths - in their late teens? Hard to say. From my crusty old vantage point, they seemed VERY young, but also fit, enthusiastic, and positively pulsing with testosterone.

They powered through rowing, running, and chin-upping in what seemed to be a relentless, endless, sweat-inducing, series of circuit stations.

They didn’t just do squats, they did them while holding (not a pizza as it may appear in my drawing) whatever those round weights are called that you would normally attach at either end of a barbell.

They lifted barbells as well - during the warm-up, just the bars (which are flipping heavy all on their own) and then later, fully loaded with weights

All this exertion took place with hoots and claps and much cheering each other on. It was actually kind of heart-warming to see all that camaraderie and goodwill.

Meanwhile, over on the other side of the not-huge gym, there I was, limping in with my due-to-be-replaced hip complaining bitterly before I even did my first step up onto a block.

For at least the first half of my workout (a term I can only use lightly given the exertions that were going on at top speed all around me), I had to keep pushing down the sense of dread that I would once again be tortured with horrible one-leg dead lifts (or whatever they are called). Two weeks ago, I was faced with this ‘simple’ task:

The weights weren’t even heavy!! But do you think I could accomplish this simple exercise without toppling over? Nope. I imagine some people probably do this while standing on a wobble board with their eyes closed but not me. F. hovered close by, ready to catch me, a gesture that was both reassuring and horrifying. How can this be happening to me?

What is going on with my body simply does not match what I feel inside. The inner me is ready to run a marathon or climb Everest (or some other challenging, but less crowded peak) or hop on a horse and ride from here to the tip of South America… or whatever. I have been having dreams where I run like the wind…

… great long distances, up and down hills, and carry on lengthy conversations while doing so. Those conversations are witty and articulate and never once do I have to grasp for a familiar word that seems to have been deleted from my vocabulary bank.

Then, I wake up - often because my HIP is hurting… or, I need to pee. Yes, kids - if you are under 35 and reading this, you have all this to look forward to.

Salvation by Creative Endeavours

How appropriate, then, that I ran into my friend A. today. He’s the filmmaker who is embarking on a project that explores the chasm that exists between how we feel inside and the physical realities of what our bodies will permit us to do. I’m working on developing a script with him and am pretty excited about sinking my teeth (while I still have teeth) into the project. I feel connected to this storyline in a way that I never really imagined would ever happen to me.

Sigh.

I am not really complaining (well, maybe a little). I recognize that all things considered, I’m doing ok. Better than ok. I’m past 60 and don’t take any medication. I ride my bike everywhere. I can limp into the gym under my own steam and do some things. Maybe not 87 chin-ups in a row, but I can still force my body into a pushup or two and hold a plank for more than 5 seconds. I went climbing yesterday and hope to dust the cobwebs off the kayak this week.

I am happy most of the time. I have a great husband and an amazing family. I do work I love and live in a safe (stunningly beautiful) place with clean drinking water and good food. When I start thinking of the long, long list of things for which I am deeply grateful, well, the fact I can’t keep up with the young soccer stars doesn’t seem to be a big deal at all.

The fact I have the time and energy to draw and write about the whole process of being where I am, this work/life in progress - well, that’s nothing short of amazing. Thank you for being part of this story. This journey. Without someone with whom to share these shenanigans, well, my life would lonelier, sadder, and smaller.

Until next time… ciao for niao!

(So many blue buttons… so little time… pick one, any one :)