The Battle of Growing Older

Today was an absolutely picture perfect day in San Antonio: eighty-two degrees, bright sunshine, not a cloud in the sky with a very light breeze in the air.  I just couldn't resist the bike even though I had not ridden since October 10.  Fortunately for me, today was one of my smarter days.  I only did seven miles, with 345 feet of vertical gain at 13 miles per hours.  It was just the right ride for my body in my shape at my age.  It was glorious!

Having reached my late 60's (67 to be precise) I think I've finally figured out that growing older is a battle.  Soon after Diana passed away (and I realized that I would no longer have to be devoting large chunks of time each day to her care) I decided I was going to get back intro shape.  I went at it with a passion that soon left me burned out.  Then I gave up.  It didn't take too long for me to realize, however, that I was losing strength and mobility much too quickly by just sitting around.  But when I did try to exercise I would usually go overboard and leave myself feeling drained at least for the rest of the day, if not for several days.

Now I recognize that growing older is a battle, and no matter how hard I try to win, it is a losing battle.  That's because nothing in this world can prevent the infirmities of age from eventually overtaking my body.  Scripture says, "The wages of sin is death," and I am now collecting my pay for all the sins I've been guilty of in the past nearly seven decades of my life.  Like it or not I will die, and the best I can hope for is to maintain enough health and strength to remain independent for as long as possible.

It will not do me any good to abuse my body in an effort to become again what I can no longer be.  I will never be the cyclist I was at age 55 when I rode the 206 miles from Seattle to Portland in one day at an average speed of 17 miles per hour.  I will never again be able to climb from the Puyallup Valley to the end of the road at Sunrise on the top of Mount Rainier, climbing 9000 feet and covering 140 miles in a single day. No matter how much I abuse my body, my age will forestall such achievements in the future.

On the other hand, it will not do me any good to abuse my body by sheer neglect.  Though the easy chair clamors and the cockpit of my Corvette lures me, I cannot allow myself to just sit around and wait to die.  Somewhere in the middle there is a better place to be, and I think I found it on today's bike ride.

A reasonable ride at a steady pace on a regular basis will do my heart good.  Some light weights and some moderate resistance training will keep me as strong as possible.  Some casual swimming of laps will keep me relatively flexible. And between it all I hope to be able to slow down sin's payments long enough to experience life for a few more years of independence and enjoyment.  It should also allow me to enjoy watching my wonderful grandsons grow up to be godly young men.

However, the prideful sin inside me keeps wanting to tell me, "Go a little harder, Bob, you can do better, think of what you used to be!"  So growing old is a battle.  It's a battle against foolishness and pride,  but also against neglect and slothfulness.  One thing's for sure, I agree with my mother-in-law's assessment (who at 87 still lives independently): "Growing old ain't for wimps."