You know, Gentle Reader, I think it was shortly after the first young person gave up their seat for me on the bus some five or six years ago that I began to think of myself as old, or aged, or aging, or getting there, or that I'd better get my ducks in a row because I'm not going to live forever. My feelings were understandably mixed. I wasn't that old, or I didn't feel that old. On the other hand I have never much enjoyed having to stand on the bus though I have always been among the first to offer my seat to a senior or a person with a visible disability, or, what the hell?, anyone who looks really tired, or a woman wearing ridiculously high heels, or a pregnant woman or a young father carrying a child. It still feels strange being on the receiving end, and generally anyone near my age or a bit older to whom I've offered my seat has often seemed a bit insulted and generally insisted that I remain where I am please and thank you. I wondered at first if I should feel a bit insulted, but I really have little control over how others are going to perceive my age and I'm not about to go under the scalpel since I feel quite proud of looking my age, no matter what I might think of anyone who doesn't guess me to be at least five years younger. I do like to encourage good habits in young people, and besides, since they are gracious enough to offer me a seat I really don't want to insult them by refusing. Accepting kindness is in itself a kindness. It's also excellent role-modelling for some of those narcissistic young douchebags who take up courtesy seats and feign blindness whenever someone who really needs them more than they do board the bus.
This acceptance of kindness has also had a couple of drawbacks. For a while I was acquiring a sense of entitlement. C'mon you guys, I'm almost old enough to be your grandpa. Get up off your selfish lazy ass already. I have made a huge effort to get over this attitude, and now if it's standing room only I make an effort not to look for healthy young bodies occupying seats that would be better suited to someone my age. Also, given that I still hike between five and ten miles every day, it is more than a little likely that my legs are probably stronger than theirs.
I have also been having to reconsider how much exercise I should be getting. I used to be a walker without limits and when I was younger it was not uncommon for me to cover between fifteen and twenty miles a day. Things have changed since then. For one thing I rarely do morning and evening walks any more, not because of my age, but because I live downtown and it isn't always nice to be outside, if you catch my drift. Because of the nature of my work, arriving on time has become also expedient, which means that if I can walk partway between appointments with clients I will do so, but I can't do as much as I used to. I have also become more disciplined and somewhat stuck in a routine that demands that I be home no later than five thirty in the afternoon if I want to get everything done that needs to be done: the day's paperwork, making and eating a nutritionally balanced dinner, cleaning up afterward, checking and writing emails, writing this bloody blog, listening to interesting and informative things on the CBC, seeing something on Youtube in Spanish to help maintain my language skills, time to rest and relax, work on a painting, time for prayer and devotional reading, reading for a while then getting to sleep hopefully before ten thirty. That's a lot to fit in, but this kind of compressed routine is essential for keeping my life, soul and mind in good working order.
I also found myself by default becoming a bit lazier. Having learned about the ten thousand step rule, I concluded that I need only to walk five miles a day in order to maintain optimum health and fitness. I also came to rationalize that since others perceive me as old that I'd might as well accept it and buy into the same perception myself. This has been my big fatal error. Assuming that this is in the best interests of my health and respecting my allegedly increasing frailty I have found myself doing just the bare minimum to stay active and healthy while overindulging in the wrong foods. When I returned from Colombia one month ago I found that I had lost at least five pounds, from walking everywhere and cutting back on comfort food (that still didn't stop me from polishing off three jars of Nutella, and I still lost weight believe it or not!). I resumed my routine of walking a little more than five miles every day and suddenly I was back to consuming the worst comfort foods (in my case, cheese, jam and chocolate in any form). I actually did enjoy the same treats while in Colombia but I was eating a lot less. So, in the last week I have been cutting back on the comforts, amping up the exercise and, behold, I have lost two of the three pounds that I gained back.
Today I took things a step further (please forgive the pun, GR) and I added three extra miles to my Saturday hiking routine. Usually I take the bus to Shaughnessy Heights at around eleven in the morning, then I walk three miles along Angus Drive, an incredibly beautiful street with well-appointed mansions, towering trees and gardens. I end up at a café where I pass one to two hours working on a drawing. Then, between one thirty and two thirty I walk back, covering an extra mile, ending up at a budget supermarket, No Frills (yes that is their real name) to pick up some groceries then return home on the next bus. Today, I decided, to hell with being sixty, I am walking the whole distance. I walked from my apartment the full five miles (8.5 kilometres) to the coffee shop. Then, after walking to No Frills, I walked all the way home over the bridge. I do not feel tired or weak. I even feel like taking a stroll after dinner. Age be damned.
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