A Vignette…

As I age, acceptance is becoming more of a thing, but in the end whiskey and a joint may qualify as medicines

                  I READ AN article the other day about this 90-year-old geezer who supposedly is one of the healthiest people on the planet. When he was hitting 80, apparently, he decided to take fitness seriously and today runs marathons.

                  The message to other old farts, such as myself, seemed to be that if you just devote hours per day to fitness, eat sparingly and wisely, don’t drink then you, too, can run marathons at 90.

                  Good on him. I pass.

                  I have been working on acceptance lately and trying to be realistic about aging.  I have been physical all my life and so in terms of overall bodily functions I am pretty fit as I approach 80. But, the other side of that is that my focus on working out (running up to eight miles a day at one point) was mainly to offset bad decisions. Like coming back from a run, having two or three beers and ordering up a pizza.

                  At one point a cardiologist gave me a stress test and told me I was in the top one percent for men my age. He looked at me and asked “so why are you so damned overweight?” I was probably 15 or so pounds heavy at the time. I told him about running eight miles and capping it off with the beer and pizza.

                  When I say I am being realistic, I am thinking about my joints. I hurt, all over. I have had my left knee replaced. I have had my right hip replaced twice. I have had discs in my neck fused. I have had hand surgery and foot surgery.

                  A lot of this is hereditary. Arthritis and other joint issues run in the family. There is an inevitability around that when it comes to aging and there is nothing much I can do about it. I don’t intend to pursue the 43 medications or gizmos I see on TV ads or on-line that promise to revitalize my joints and make me pain free.

                  I had what they determined was a mini stroke a few weeks ago. I am not overly worried. I still exercise, I do try to eat more wisely, rarely drink beer anymore so I view a possible larger stroke as something I can’t control and don’t intend to spend a lot of time worrying about.

                  I guess part of accepting the realities of aging is just denying the myth of immortality. Religion exists because Man, with his thinking brain, cannot accept the fact that he is somehow special and different from a duck or a dog. We have created heaven so we can live on and hell so we can picture people we don’t like suffering.

                  I believe that when I am done, I am done. No angels with harps. No sitting on clouds. Just done. I am fine with that. 

                  So, I ache, I hurt but I get up every morning and go on as best I can. I’m not seeking remedies, no miracle cures or elixirs that claim to turn back time. Life is what it is – beginning, middle and end. A certain amount of deterioration and pain is part and parcel of it. You can’t revel in the good if you don’t accept the not so good. So, I accept it all.

                  But, if it all gets to be too much at some point, I suppose I am open to good whiskey chased by good weed. I am, after all, an old man who came of age in the 60s.      

Rich Heiland is a retired journalist and semi-retired consultant, trainer and public speaker. During his journalism career he was a reporter, editor, publisher, college instructor, part of a Pulitzer Prize-winning team and a National Newspaper Association Columnist of the Year honoree. He lives in West Chester, PA and can be reached at [email protected].