PAIN, WEAK HANDS, CURSING

Pardon my French, but old age is a bitch.

These are NOT the "Golden Years." Where the hell is the gold?

I'm 74 freakin' years old, and this is, as one doctor put it, "The Age of Pain."

It is also a time of weak hands and swearing. The words I most hear out of my mouth are curse words. "Damn it to hell." "F**k." "Sh*t."

I drop things, I trip over things, I stub my toe, I screw things up.

I don't intend to do any of these things, they just happen.

And that is part of the problem. I feel young inside, sometimes 18, or 35, or 50. I sure as hell don't feel 74, whatever that feels like. I don't want to know.

Nobody wants to get old, including me. Especially me, young at heart as I am. Hell, I'm still flirting with women, even though they are not as young as they used to be.

Of course, that does NOT apply to me.

I still want to go mountain biking and body surfing and scuba diving. I don't, but it sounds like fun. I still want to race my road bike against my bicycle buddies.

Your hands get weak, but they don't FEEL weak. Jars are a lot harder to open. You can't fix things like you used to.

This morning, I tried to take the top off a spray can of olive oil. My hands were slightly oily, so I couldn't get it.

I got out a kitchen tool used to remove lids. I squeezed the hell out of the plastic top, crushing it, and twisted the hell out of the little bastard, and sure enough, it finally popped off.

So did the little squirt top inside, which skittered across the floor. "F**k!"

Why are these simple everyday things so hard to do?

No reason, they just are. I think it's nature's way of telling you something.

It's a message I don't want to hear.

-- Roger

GET IN SHAPE TO GET OLD

I decided to blog about aging because nobody warns you. Nobody tells you what it's going to be like when you get old.

I'm 74 now, but I'm one of the lucky ones. I won the genetic lottery. People take me for 55, on a good day. I'm what they call "young-old."

When you are actually young, you don't look at an old person -- all wrinkly and hobbling around and groaning when they bend over to pick up something, having trouble getting up and down the stairs -- and say to yourself, that's gonna be me someday.

We view old people as aliens, as if they came from another planet. But guess what, young people, you are gonna get old some day. If you're lucky. It beats the hell out of the alternative.

Today, I want to talk about strength. I've been working out for 30 years. Yes, that's right, 30. And I'm not one of those people who intends to go to the gym someday. I actually do it.

I've been active, a runner, body surfer, mountain biker, weight lifter, minor body builder, student of boxing and martial arts.

I used to mountain bike a 1,000-foot elevation gain two or three times a week. Plus ride my road bike 20-30 miles once a week. Plus lift weights and play tennis. My resting heart rate got down to 48, a good measure of cardiovascular fitness. When Mohammad Ali was heavyweight boxing world champion, his resting heart rate was 52. So I was in damn good shape. I was in my 50s.

So I've been active, all right. And if I get weaker as I age, imagine what it's going to be like if you don't exercise.

The most surprising thing is that your muscles feel just as strong as they ever did, but things that were easy are now difficult. Things that were difficult are sometimes impossible. I especially notice it in my hands. I have three types of jar opening tools in my kitchen.

When I'm with my grandsons, if I can't open a jar, I hand it to Jake or Eric and pop, it comes right off in their little hands. They are 10 and 11 years old.

I may have been strong once, but not any more. I would bet that's gonna happen to you, too. There is no point in whining around about it. Get used to it.

One of my physical trainers, John O'Brien, told me one time, "Something's gonna get you some day, and you want to be in the best shape you can when it happens."

Amen to that. So I keep working out, but lighter and lighter, with less and less intensity, as I get older. I get weaker, but I fight against it. Trying to stave off the inevitable.

That's the only thing you can do. You can't afford to quit.

NEXT: The Age of Pain.

-- Roger

Copyright © 2013, Roger R. Angle

GRUMPY OLD MAN

It is weird getting old. I am 73 now. Knock on wood. Older than my dad ever was. He died at 72, on the crapper, which was somehow fitting. He had trouble with constipation for years.

He was shacked up with an 18-year-old girl whom I met one time. Hurray for him. He had the right idea.

When he divorced my raving hysterical critical bitch of a mother--I started to type "monster," god rest her soul--he bought a Cadillac and a boat and found this young woman. Bless him. Wish he'd done it sooner. Unfortunately, he only lived two more years to enjoy his freedom.

Now, here I am, getting older and grumpier every year. Everything pisses me off. Everything hurts. My hands, my knees, my shoulders. Sometimes, I'll be sitting still, minding my own business, when for no reason I get a sudden jolt of pain, about a five or six on a scale of one to ten, with ten being enough to make you pass out.

I never thought growing old would be fun, but I pictured it as a time of leisure, relaxation and satisfaction. I assumed that you would not feel as much pain, that your pain receptors would somehow be dulled. Good luck with that.

So I'm grumpy. In fact, my son calls me Grumpy, like one of the seven dwarfs.

And he's right. I am grumpy. You would be, too. Or will be. 

-- Roger

Copyright © 2012, Roger R. Angle

THANKS FOR THE SNOW

When you get to be an old geezer like I am -- 73 at last count -- you look back on your life with mixed feelings. 

I have some regrets, sure. But one thing I am really glad about is all the outdoor physical stuff I have done. I am so glad I skied the mountains, raced motorcycles with my buddies, rode mountain bikes, took whitewater kayak lessons, hiked and camped and traveled and swam in the ocean and bodysurfed and scuba dived and all the rest.

I mountainbiked El Moro Canyon a thousand times, up and down and crossways. It was a blast. One time, I looked down, and there was a Mojave Green rattlesnake about two feet from my right boot, pulling back to strike, and I was going uphill in gravel and dirt. I could have gotten scared and panicked. But I just kept on cranking and moved on past him, without losing my cool. Eeee-haw!

I remember coming down the south side of El Moro Canyon on a steep little narrow trail about six inches wide, with a gully on one side and cactus and rocks on the other. One mistake and you're in a world of hurt. I got in the zone and concentrated so the rest of the world faded away, and I made it down without a fall. Eeee-haw! Another peak experience. What a blast. Overcoming your fear.

I like those high-concentration moments.

I remember kayaking out in the ocean with my instructor, and he said, "Come here," and I paddled over next to him. He pushed me over, and I did the Eskimo roll, fast and easy and came up clean and dripping wet and feeling fine. I knew I had passed the test.

Those peak experiences are unforgettable, some of the things that make life worthwhile. (Along with love and work and family.)

I am so glad I traveled and hitchhiked and camped and saw the sun rise in the mountains and swam in ice-cold mountain streams.

I have all those great memories, many with friends and family.

Now my knees are all messed up -- I have runner's knees from many years of running for exercise (a bad idea, BTW) -- and my hiking days are probably over. Maybe even my mountain biking days. Probably no more skiing.

Well, I hate to say it, but that happens to us all. My advice to young people: do the things you love while you can. Make hay while the sun shines, as they say in Kansas.

Do what you love while you can.

I'm sure glad I did.

-- Roger

Copyright © 2011, Roger R. Angle

GET OLD? NOT ME

This morning, I was sitting by the front window, in the sun, enjoying the greenhouse effect, and reading Cormac McCarthy. 

Ah, old age. When would you ever take the time to relax before?  

Almost never. I've never been the relax type. I've always heard the clock ticking in the back of my head. Don't unwind for a minute, or you might lose out. You might not get everything done. You might not get that story written, or that novel, or get your kid to school on time.

But now, in your old-fartage, you have a little time to unwind.

You appreciate more and more the little things in life. I was looking at the blue sky speckled with white clouds and thinking how beautiful it is.

The muscles in my back were tight and achy, so I lay down and massaged my back on a foam roll on the floor. Then I did my neck exercises.

Boring to read about, but wonderful to do.

When you're young, you never think you are going to get old. You look at successful writers, or businessmen, or whatever your field is, and you want to be like them, or kick their ass.

But you never look at a white-haired old fart, hard of hearing, with wrinkles and jowls and a turkey-wattle neck, and say to yourself, you know, I'm going be just like that some day.

Nobody does that. No one wants to face it or imagine it. And yet that is exactly what happens.

There are good things about old age: lower expectations, fewer things to prove, fewer women to chase (wait, is that good?), fewer jobs to look for, fewer asses to kiss. 

Most of our trials and struggles are behind us old farts. 

So enjoy it while you can. Make hay while the sun shines, as we used to say in Kansas.

There is just one more challenge to face, after you finish your novels, or whatever your life's work is, and you do what you can to make sure your kids are going to be OK:

You get ready for the great beyond, the great mystery. To go where every man or woman goes, sooner or later, rich or poor, stupid or wise, healthy or infirm.

I don't know what's out there, none of us do. I'm not happy about it. I used to think I was OK with it, but not these days. I have more things I want do. A million more.

And I don't want to give up any of them. I don't want to miss a thing.

-- Roger

© Copyright 2011, Roger R. Angle

DON'T YOU JUST HATE OLD PEOPLE?

Old people are so boring, aren't they?

All they do is talk about the good old days, and about their back pains, and about their knee surgeries, and how the world is going to hell, and how the old days were better, and how people were more reliable back then, and even the politicians were more honest when they were young, and on and on, blah-blah-blah.

Don't you get sick of it? I do.

I hate old people, too. But guess what? I am one. I was born in 1938 and will reach 73 in August this year.

In our society, we separate ourselves from old people. In other cultures, and in the good old days, families all lived together, granny and gramps and uncles and aunts and kids and parents.

Those days seem to have disappeared when most folks moved into cities to pursue industrial and post-industrial careers. "How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm" was a popular song way back when.

When we look at old people, we don't see ourselves. We don't see anyone remotely like us. We see aliens. Creatures from outer space. Wrinkly, weird critters that don't hear very well and that have watery, almost sightless eyes. That's right, we don't see ourselves in the future, the way we are going to be, inevitably. We see aliens. I should say you. You young people see aliens. Not me, I see men and women like me, of my generation.

I never realized I was going to get old. My mother, when she was about 80 and lived on a golf course near Riverside, CA, said, "You feel young inside, but when you look in the mirror, you see an old person staring back at you."

She was right. But what she didn't say was how that feels. It is scary. My God, it is the scariest thing I've ever faced.

I don't know what to do about it, except work out, eat right and try to stay healthy. I try not to be too grumpy about it, although that is hard.

And when I meet other old people, I try to act as friendly as I can. Even though they are still aliens, weirdly enough, and they are still really boring. I hope I am not half as bad.  

© Copyright 2011, Roger R. Angle