EDITOR’S NOTE: When a particular piece of writing is so relatable, as this one is, I always reach out to the author for permission to share this with the many Pioneer readers that I know “don’t do social media.” You’ll recognize the last name, Joe is the brother of our Tillamook County Commissioner Mary Faith. Thanks to Joe Bell for this insightful view about growing older …
By Joe Bell
During my four-hour weed eating session today I had some deep thoughts about aging.
Mostly, I am in denial of my age. Delusional really. Sixty is just around the next corner and that reality is straight up baffling to me.
My daily responsibilities and actions would suggest that I’m an actual adult. I have two adult children and more than one set of divorce papers. I have a nice home. I pay my mortgage and bills on time. I build cool stuff with tools I have purchased myself, etc. Plenty of evidence that I’m a grown-up.
However, despite the truth in the mirror, I still see myself as a young person and that all this adulting is just pretending.
Curiously, I see people I’ve known forever through the lens of youth also. My sisters are equally childlike to mine eyes.
Not too long ago I got to attend my 40-year high school reunion. Lots of gray hair and expanding midsections, but I saw my friends as the beautiful young people they were. Especially the gals.
Somehow my mind holds the images of my family and friends from childhood as though time failed to march on. Forever 18. Sadly, this filter is less effective for the boys. Lotta old dudes at the H.S. event.
And this youth filter works not at all for people I didn’t know as children. I see old folks all the time and am often amazed to find out many of them are younger than me.
Yet in other ways, the truth about aging is becoming undeniable.
At the age of 57, I discovered that my legs, without warning, had mutinied. They used to be so very strong with amazing balance.
I didn’t really think about them when they were invincible. I wish I would have paid more attention. Paused now and then to revel at my body’s capabilities.
Leg mutiny happened suddenly. I was at the airport. At the sidewalk drop off I bent down in a deep squat, put my big duffle bag over my head and shoulder, and found that I could not stand up.
Just like that. I cannot squat 50 pounds anymore.
I was horrified.
You’d think a devastatingly strong pair of legs would let you know when they were weakening. But no. The revelation was all at once. A painfully public announcement devoid of grace.
Sometime after that I was invited to play pickleball. Stupid easy game I would no doubt dominate. But again, with the legs.
My brain told my body to move suddenly to reach that ball and my legs just laughed. Perversely, moving suddenly was easier than stopping suddenly and I have the scuff mark on my right knee to prove it. Who’s laughing now, legs?
At one point in this experiment, I quickly reached up a little too high and a little too far back during an attempted overhand smash. It was then I discovered the departure of my balance. I tipped over backwards and was powerless to stop the fall. What once would have been a quick drop on the rump now was a full drop to the gym floor ending with my head bonking the hardwood. It happened in slow motion and there was nothing I could do about it.
It wasn’t a bad fall. Just a medium head bonk. No big deal.
Yet somehow, I had a powerful emotional response. I had to excuse myself and scamper out to my truck because I was seconds away from weeping. In the privacy of my pickup, I did just that.
So very strange. I haven’t cried from getting hurt since I was very young. It wasn’t that physically painful so why the tears?
The best I can describe it was grief. I was mourning the loss of my youthful body and all the amazing and normal things it used to be able to do. Also, there was an undercurrent of betrayal.
I haven’t experienced betrayal from another person (not counting a few shitty businesspeople), but that’s the word my grief showed me. My aging body is betraying me. It turns out that falling is way less fun than it used to be. I walk around these days with a moderate fear of stumbling.
Sometime after the head bonk weeping incident I started to awaken.
I looked in the mirror on my 59th birthday. 50 pounds overweight, hockey sticks for legs, a disappearing butt, and a recent history of suspect balance.
I remember thinking “Is it too late?”
I decided then that I would try to get in shape one more time. I even had the silly idea that as a form of motivation I would post a shirtless picture on my 60th birthday one year later. Yeah. I doubt it.
But, while weed eating today, it came to me that I should share a little of this story with my forever young friends. So here you go.
I’m exercising (a little). I’ve lost some weight. And wouldn’t you know it, my legs are starting to feel stronger.
Maybe it’s not too late.
Cheers beautiful young people