Lord only knows what I was saying to my brother as I strutted past him on the shores of the Great Salt Lake during our family’s 1963 road trip from Kentucky to California. I’m told I was a real ham back then, often careening into show-off territory, so it was probably something like “just wait til you see ME float!”.
I’ve been working out at Orange Theory lately. The day I signed up, I asked the handsome, well-toned trainer which class the old farts usually attend. He assured me they’re always present, no matter the time of day. I’ve attended several sessions now, at different times, and I have seen no one over the age of 35. Trying to keep pace with the young people on either side of me while I crank up the treadmill to shockingly steep inclines is humbling. So is hoisting heavy weights over my head in slow, steady succession, while striving for acceptable form.
I’m decades older than everyone around me when I’m at Orange, so I do feel good about my accomplishments... maybe even empowered. Today I couldn’t help but sneak a glance in the mirror at the woman next to me as I struggled through some squats, comparing her body to mine. Her breasts were round and perky, beautifully nested in her Lulu Lemon yoga top. When I shifted my eyes back to my own once-perfect orbs, I saw lopsided, flattened-on-one-side, droopy boobs. Well, lucky for her, she likely hasn’t had a mastectomy. I managed to smile to myself, recognizing how much more of life I’ve lived and how many scars I have to prove it. And that felt kind of empowering, too.
I’m going to be 70 in September. It just doesn’t seem possible. Sometimes I see my mother staring back at me in the mirror when I’m inspecting new lines on my face (they seem to appear overnight, without warning). I was just at a New Year’s Eve party which ended at 10:00. Some of my friends are, gulp, nearing or in their 80’s. Some of them, including my husband, have bumped up against some scary diseases. Some have already died.
Wait! This is happening too fast.
As I careen toward 70 (actually, I think I'll summon my 9-year-old self and try strutting my way there), I'm seeing more and more clearly that life is sad and funny. Easy and hard. Joyful and painful. Ridiculous and serious. And that the challenge is to honor both, even if they're happening at the same time... maybe especially then.
