Aging

Mile Marker

~ Donald J. Lund

Memory is a funny thing.

The first chill in the air after a long, hot summer snaps you back into autumn mode and a series of memories associated with the seasonal passage of time.  Another season prepares to turn. Another mile marker of sorts on the road of life.

Add in a specific task from the past with the cold, crisp morning air and the memory goes back to work.  The mind reaches back to assemble relatable images and fragments in order to present a usable flashback segment from this lifespan.

In this case, older me was driving to a swimming pool and the recall shuffled back several decades to younger me doing something very similar. Cold air and swimming find substantive space in my memories of high school swim team mornings.

I was always impressed by the teenage version of me for simply getting out of bed at 4:30 every morning for the late fall early winter high school season.  I would spend several  months crawling out of a heated waterbed into near frigid, rarified mile high air and then into an unreasonably cold recreation center swimming pool.

As an added bonus our coach insisted the team carpool as much as we could for bonding and accountability, team building, etc. Seniors on the team generally had to fit as many underclassmen as they could – or in some cases as many as they could stand, into their vehicles for travel to practice.

In my case, I was able to team up with Steve, my very good friend and fellow junior. A friendly face helped, but our driver was a senior who was not thrilled with the whole carpool concept.  His vehicle was a Subaru Brat. Our driver was Brad.  And Brad was a bit of a brat himself.  At least at the start of the carpool time.

If you’ve never seen a Brat, they are unique and in my mind, very impractical vehicles.  A micro pick-up of sorts, tiny in the front and a tiny open air ‘cargo’ bed fitted with a rear facing jump seat. On a high volume day, the car could uncomfortably fit two in the front and two more in the back.  During the first few weeks of travel to practice, me and Steve got the magical experience of the open air cargo area jump seat, while Brad was nice and warm up front.

Late fall and winter morning air, plus some windchill from a moving vehicle and there were some mornings when that unreasonably cold swimming pool was a welcome end to that journey to practice.  Eventually, Steve and I got to trade time up front with Brad, who eventually saw us as teammates and not cold cargo.  When it was snowing, we even crammed three of us into a space where three humans did not really fit. A mundane trip to practice becomes quite exciting when one has to quickly move their lower extremities out of the way of the driver’s hand trying to shift gears.

It was actually quite a bit of fun.  The whole swim team experience stays with me.  Many of us actually swam on two teams, the local city team and the high school team in order to push our conditioning to the limit.  At the apex of the season, we would hit five miles a day in the water.  I get tired driving five miles these days, much less attempting to swim such a distance.

Fast forward to today, and I still am able to be impressed by what younger me accomplished.  It brings out a series of memories and lifelong milestones or mile markers along the way.  Memories jump back to my first tackle in football, that first day of keeping my bicycle balanced to ride it on a regular basis, my first car, my first kiss, my first love, and my first time…well, like I said, memory is funny thing.  Flashes from the past triggered by a simple change in weather, like the morning with a chill in the air in any given year along the way.

I now hope the younger version of me is slightly impressed.  Three decades later I have found sanctuary again in moving across the water.  I am far slower than before, yet there is peace found in the rhythm of swimming at a reasonable pace.  I can think about what chores I need to get done, the stories I want to write and plan upcoming family events on an invisible mental calendar. And then I hit the wall and turn back, thinking more or less as I continue on my way.

It has only been two weeks back in the water, but it connects to all of those other times I spent moving from one end of the pool to the other.  In my head, five miles a day was once routine as we knocked out 5200-5600 yards in two hours.  Easy mode, right?

Well, old me nearly drowned himself topping 1100 yards in 45 minutes last week. Then I got to 1200 the next time in, then 1250 and this morning, there was something in the air.  It was more than a chill in the air.  There was an air of confidence too.

Young me was taunting the old man a bit.

After a brief warm-up this morning, old me crushed the timed lap by nine seconds compared to previous old guy workouts.  Take that younger me.

The pool this morning was a little bit colder than usual.  And I felt a little stronger.

I pushed along rather nicely and knocked out 1825 yards.  A mere 65-yards over a mile. But I’ll take it.

It is not as exciting as becoming a father or buying that first car, but a literal mile marker in the pool once again. Be it a mile marker in life, or in the pool, I may be hitting a few more new goals in and out of the water.  And maybe I’m just getting warmed up.

You go old me.

Swim on…

 

Age of Content

~ Donald J. Lund

Fifty is just a number.

The fifty yard line is half-way to the end zone in football.  Fifty bucks will sometimes cover a decent meal at a nice restaurant for two, with no drinks or desserts on the ticket. Fifty miles will get me an hour closer to the Wyoming border from here.

But fifty years old?  Yeah, it is just a number, but a pretty big one.

My birthday is next Monday, a lesser known National Holiday, but if you need a day off, just tell your boss I said it was okay.  It is a floating holiday each year, but I only get one day of me every 365-days so I take it.

I’ve always treated my birthday as a big deal, because my family did.  Candles, balloons, cake, good food and a song sung, just for me.  I know the song was just for me, because my name was mentioned among the lyrics.

Heck, sometimes kids not related to me were allowed to visit and join in on the celebration.  And while stuff is not nearly as important as it was a couple dozen birthdays ago, it is kind of nice to at least be offered stuff on my day.

Those numbers started to mean something.  At first it meant I got to be older than some of my classmates.  But with a spring birthday, I was really one of the younger kids in my class.  Then at some point it meant it was time to grow up.  The teenage years meant jobs, and then of course, the first goal line birthday was 15.  The learner permit era and the time to practice driving the car and looking cool.

Sixteen, of course made the actual driver’s license a viable option, seventeen not too much new, but the big 18 was all about the magical tripwire.  One minute you’re still a kid, the next, you can get in huge trouble for poor choices as a young adult.  For me at that time, it was the right to vote, a chance at legal, albeit watered down 3.2 beer and the ability to sign up for U.S. Marine Corps.  Be careful what you sign, those contracts are taken pretty seriously.

Of course, 21-years-old is the modern welcome wagon for alcohol, and other adult choices. Also, and it’s completely optional, one can get married at 22, like me. At 25, one can rent a car, get a better vehicle insurance rate and in my case, become a father for the first time.  Another lucky choice, as the whole Dad thing adds to the happy.

Time flies when you’re having fun.

Actually, time flies when you’re miserable too.  Through sickness, health, losing loving family members and friends.  Time -as the cliche reminds – waits for no one.

Time certainly has not waited or even slowed down for me.  Although there were a couple days in high school, those late afternoon spring classes where I could have sworn time stopped.

I know folks who downplay the birthday thing.  I know some have never really liked to think about the numbers.  I get that.  Sometimes I get pretty dismissive about the aging process myself.

Paint by numbers can be fun, so it is time to color in another pattern is all. Numbers do so many things, but they never lie.  Five decades is pretty darned good.

I don’t feel the fifty.  Well, my right knee does feel over forty, and my right shoulder is aging rapidly.  There is no way I can claim to be mature enough to be this old.  If I find a T-Shirt that says “the first fifty years of childhood are the hardest” I am so buying that thing.

I’m not going for all glib on this deal. I’m clearly closer to the finish line.   And pain has been a part of this otherwise glorious run.  However, as one of my new favorite quotes by an unknown author describes it best, “Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our lives.”

Limping along with a bum knee aside, the emotional aspect of life is in a constant state of healing.  Bad stuff happens everyday, how I choose to respond to it is on me.  And so yeah, immature for sure, yet just enough wisdom to embrace my next birthday.

I am blessed, loved, with a sizable pile of family and friends.  I recall how my wily grandfather essentially hit a life reset button at the age of 50.  He thoroughly enjoyed his next three decades on the planet.  I will endeavor to live his example and hopefully laugh as loud and as often.

I may not get another three decades.  Hell, with traffic around these parts, I’m lucky to be alive at all.  Eastern philosophy reminds us the past is the past, and no tomorrows are promised us, so focus on the now.  Sounds like a deal.

And while I was never good at math, technically speaking, I will only be 50 for one second.  By the next tic of the clock, I’ll be over fifty.  A whole new world.  A new demographic and a chance to push on toward another year in this crazy, wonderful, sad, bizarre world.

Five decades later, and thus begins the age of contentment.

Stay tuned…