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.