So when we were kids, or at least when we were younger, Oil of Olay (I think) had a commercial in which the woman slathered her face with some miracle cream and announced “I don’t intend to grow old gracefully. I intend to fight it every step of the way.” And my sisters and I, we’d laugh and laugh and laugh—because aging wasn’t something that we had to worry about. Aging was something that plagued our mom, our aunts, their friends…despite the fact that when we were laughing at the ad they probably were all in their 30s. (I tried to find out when the ad was released but couldn’t and I forced myself not to go down that rabbit hole of retro commercials because this bit wasn’t going to write itself, and it doesn’t actually matter anyway.) Regardless of when the commercial aired, or how old my mom was when it did, the joke’s on me now. I never intended to age but alas here I am…when I wake up in the morning I can tell whether I slept on my left side or my right by which eye has bigger bag under it. I also can turn back time temporarily and give myself a temporary facelift by making sure the towel turban is tight enough on my head after I get out of the shower.
Fortunately (?) I’ve never been one who has been big on looks (which is probably a good thing since I couldn’t really pull it off anyway), but I have—with varying degrees of effort—always tried to take care of myself—with varying degrees of results.
You likely know by now (putting “pedestrian” in The Pedestrian Pundit) that I like to walk and that I do a lot more now than pre-COVID. I used to run but reached a point where plantar fasciitis and Achilles tendinitis laid me up, and no amount of rest or patience or PT got me back on my feet…and that’s probably because those physical annoyances and the accompanying lack of mobility coincided in a most unfortuitous way with the inevitable hormone battle that rages within women of a certain age, resulting in a very ugly and unwelcome middle-aged shape shifting. I wasn’t about to let myself get discouraged, although admittedly sometimes I did and still do, because I know how important it is to stay active and eat right and get enough sleep and take care of body, mind, and soul. I tried to get my running miles back up time and again but was simply unable to. So about 2.5 years ago, a great new gym was opening not far from the house, we took a pre-opening tour, and signed up for a full year on the spot. And that gym has been great. Awesome owners, challenging workouts, fun sense of community and while my metabolism’s never been called a speed demon, I was working hard and feeling good, so I was happy to watch the pounds melt off the people working out alongside me. (Kind of.)
And then…COVID…and the accompanying COVID-19 weight-gain jokes. The pressure was on not to be part of that club. I joined the gym’s virtual workouts a couple days a week (and learned that I’m not particularly good at pushing myself when I work out alone in my garage, and that the concrete garage floor sucks to work out on), and that’s also when the walking started. I tried to run, but still…just…couldn’t. So I walked. For a break from work, for sanity, and for exercise. Then the gym could reopen in a limited capacity and I was back to it. They are doing a great job trying to safely manage through the constantly changing requirements…but my own risk tolerance profile doesn’t like it when I go if the classes are too “full” so I’ve been trying to find two classes a week to get to, and for now that’s been ok.
But there’s one problem. Pre-COVID, the workouts usually had exercise “stations” and you’d be in small groups moving from exercise to exercise, and I found myself not really paying attention to much else other than exactly what I was trying to do without hurting myself. It was fun and competitive and I enjoyed trying to keep up with people in the class half my age, shoulder/elbow/hip/knee maladies notwithstanding…nothing serious, just aches and pains of aging. But now, we’re in our marked off spaces, where we stay for the duration (45 minutes), and I “get” to see what everyone else is doing. Like the other day when we were warming up and doing side lunges and out of the corner of my eye I spied some overachieving young person so contorted that my mind’s eye imagined them balanced on their pinky while their legs wrapped around their head, defying gravity. What the hell? We were doing SIDE LUNGES, not auditioning for a circus sideshow. Or like during the double hurdle hop-box jump combo when I was focused on not falling and dedicated to leaving the gym with as many teeth as I arrived with…I was struggling to double hop over tape lines (leave the hurdles to the pros) on the floor, and land squarely on an 18” box…and I was distracted by a figure in the distance, heading skyward, a different young person who was executing the same exercise as I was as if they were part kangaroo. I swear to God.
So I know I’m losing a step, and it hurts. Yeah, it’s part of aging, making it that much more important to stay committed and work as hard as I can to lose as few steps as possible—and to transform my thinking and be ok with the fact that I’m not a 27 year old part kangaroo yogini. Especially since I wasn’t even a 27 year old part kangaroo yogini when I was 27. While it has not been easy admitting this, and I still can’t get back to running (current malady: right knee pain, probably because I never had that torn ACL surgically repaired, *shrug*), it’s ok, kind of. It has to be.
Because now the tables have turned. I’m the one with no intention of growing old gracefully and I intend to fight it every step of the way. So I had to find out for myself: what the f-ckus is all the ruckus about?
My social media feed had been flooded with ads for months. A friend mentioned it to me offhandedly in conversation, and subsequently the number of social media mentions multiplied at least 10-fold. I needed a change. So I did it. I marched myself over to the GORUCK website and I bought a “ruck plate carrier” and a 20-pound ruck plate.
The ruck plate got delivered first. I went out to bring the package in (about the size of a hardcover book give or take), lifted it, and hoped to hell that the Fedex guy who delivered it didn’t end up with a sports hernia. I’ll tell you this—I can lift 20 pounds no problem but there’s something about picking up a book-sized package with 20 pounds of weight so densely concentrated that triggers the thought: “Jesus Christ, you really need to lose (at least) 20 pounds.” So I’m not making any resolutions or anything really, but I have been (since the carrier arrived two weeks ago) walking around Weymouth with pretty much a brick in a backpack. The only transformation thus far has been mental—being happy with the fact this is something that I can do and that I do it regularly and not fretting over the step (or two, truth told) that I’ve lost. “Rucking” adds an element of challenge to every walk, it minimizes my maladies, and it makes me less angsty about not being part kangaroo yogini. Plus walking around carrying 20 extra pounds has to be doing some physical good, right?
So that’s what the f-ckus all the ruckus is about. Rucking is walking with weight. I’m doing it, and I’ll keep doing it. I’ll keep you posted if I think there’s an update worth sharing at any point.
It wasn’t easy, transforming how I think about myself relative to the passage of time and what I think I should or shouldn’t be able to do. I finally understand that the important thing is to stay in the game—any game. And for me, for now, that means walking around Weymouth with a brick on my back.
Until next time, do whatever it is that you do. And have a great week.
There’s some physical house transformation news to report this week too. We had set some money aside to travel in 2020, but found ourselves unable to take a trip. We decided that if we couldn’t take a trip, that no one should take a trip…down our crumbling steps. Thus we had those 3x3 crumbling concrete steps complete with a 1950s wrought-iron railing replaced with an updated 8x8 composite platform with a nice (safety) railing.
The next time we safely have you over, you’ll be extra safe when you enter and exit.
Now go have that great week!