“What a drag it is, getting old .” —Mick Jagger and Keith Richards
Outside the obvious blessing itself of getting old (considering the alternatives), a few inconveniences and questions need to be addressed.
The first question I have is: “What happened to all that time?”
I remember clearly my much-younger self lying on the grass, looking at the stars in the summer sky, and thinking, “When will I be a grown-up? How long does it take?” That, to me, now seems like it only happened the week before last. The days were endless and summer was a full three months—none of this “July 4 til the first part of August and it’s back-to-school time!” nonsense like it is now. No sirree! Summer was the end of May through Labor Day. Yet astonishingly, time became like a Nolan Ryan fastball, and THEN became NOW. The days come at me like a jet, and go by even faster.
The things we once did with a sense of nonchalance, now are performed with urgency, a rhythm that we somehow morph into at some point.
My next question is, “When did I get on all these medications?”
Remember back in the ’70s when aging male tennis star Bobby Riggs challenged a young female Billie Jean King to a singles tennis match in the Battle of the Sexes?
I do. That’s how old I am. But my point is this: As part of the promotion for the tennis match, a leading national magazine showed a picture of Riggs holding up a baggie of his daily supply of meds and supplements. It looked like he was packing for a month-long vacation in Typhoidmalaria City or something. It was terrifying. It didn’t seem possible that someone could choke down that many pills in a week, much less a single day. I thought, “I hope I never get that old!” At the time, he was probably a LOT younger than I am now.
I thought of that Riggs photo this morning as I looked at my own daily dose of blood pressure and cholesterol medications and other supplements. It would have made a full baggie. And I’m not talking those little wimpy sandwich baggies. I am so grateful that my beautiful road manager (wife) is able to keep up with my meds and supplements, because in my advancing years, I cannot. (This is a joke, of course. I couldn’t have kept up with all of that 25 years ago.)
My last question is, “What happened to my body?”
In my youth, we were focused on physical fitness. We had P.E. classes every day, rain or shine, like it or not, kindergarten on up. I began playing organized football at a young age, so small that we looked like bobbleheads, judging by the pictures. By high school, I was ahead of the fitness curve. Ten feet tall and bulletproof, as they say. The only broken bone I ever got in football was my nose. (You should have seen the other guy.)
One would think this Superman effect would carry on into later years. It did not.
Unbeknownst to me, our bodies keep score. That one time at least 40 years ago when I twisted my knee in the third quarter of a game against who-can-remember? My knee kept a record. That amazing tackle where I landed as hard on my knee as I face-planted a guy in the turf? Yep. The time that pulling guard dropped a nasty chop block—which was legal back then—on my knee? I still feel it. After all those years of buckling, slamming, colliding, weight-lifting on those knee joints, both took a long, semi-functional vacation, and then said, “We quit.”
Two recent knee replacement surgeries later, I have authentic Six Million Dollar Man bionic knees. (You have to be of a certain age to catch that reference, too). I had to go back to P.E. class to rehab those bad boys, only know it’s called P.T.—Physical Therapy. They are not joking around in P.T. But the scars make me look tough.
So, these days, after aortic surgery, which was also a miracle, I am still in a race to catch up instead of stay ahead.
“You can’t lift too much weight,” they told me. “But you need to exercise for sure.” I don’t get it.
My body hasn’t even forgotten about painting, drawing and guitar, for Pete’s sake. I am starting to get arthritis in my hands, and all those activities are just for fun, not work. Maybe I can get corrective surgery for all that, too. That would be cool. Bionic hands.
I am not really feeling bad about all this stuff, as long as I can keep up with the curve, or at least see where it’s heading. I have never been too trendy, and I do have my amazing looks.
