Wednesday, September 28, 2016


In 2001, at the age of 43, I walked the Portland Marathon.  I had severe blisters on my feet by the time I finished, but the next day I was feeling pretty good except for those darn blisters.  Around that time I remember a friend, a bit older than I, telling me how long it was taking him to recover from a ski injury.  He said an injury that used to take a couple of weeks to mend was now dragging into months of recuperation.  Now that I think about it, I think he was, then, about the age I am now – and I know what he meant!

Saturday I ran a 6k.  I ran it; I didn’t rock it (run-walk).  I was pretty proud of myself and feeling good about my fitness.  To be fair to myself, I also walked an additional three miles, stood for most of a football game, and sat in a car for five hours.  It was a long day – and I felt it Sunday, and Monday, and Tuesday.  A decade ago a long physical day meant, perhaps a day of (say this in a perky voice) “recovery”.  Now I sadly realize my athletic activites take a greater toll and a long physical day entails days of (say this slow and low) “re-cuuuuv-errrr-y”.

I’m not letting that stop me, though.  Today I am going on a 9-mile hike with a group of women most of whom are older than me.  They’re fit and active and I’m sure they know about “re-cuuuuv-errrr-y”, but they’re out there setting the example for graceful, active aging – and I will be there, too.

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