On Turning 90

Photo credit: SK Lund

At the end of June, I will be 90. The number measures years but reveals nothing about who I am or how I live.
And so . . . 

A few days ago I was hiking up a steep trail and met a couple and their daughter who were coming down. They hadn’t hiked this trail before and asked me about area trails. After explaining how the trails connected, the imp in me said, “I’m in training.”

“What for?” they asked.

I told them, “After moving to Santa Fe in 2001, a former student wanted to know how I’d like to celebrate my birthday. I said I’d like to do a nice hike. He suggested Nambé Lake. It was so beautiful I decided to do the hike every year. Since then, I’ve only missed one year, when I was recovering from chemo. It’s the best way to celebrate turning 90.” 

They looked at me with disbelief. I understand. Nambé Lake was not an easy hike 25 years ago and now it’s a hard hike—about seven miles, more than 2000’ of elevation gain, climbing to over 11,000.’ Last year it was harder than the year before. This year? Who knows? I’ve told the two friends going with me it’s okay if I have to turn around before reaching the lake. They both know I’m lying.

My encounter with the family left me energized as I continued up the steep slope, thinking about aging. The endless stupid recipes and thou shalts and shalt nots, promulgated by medical and media personnel make it sound as if aging is an algorithm and every person ages exactly the same way. Crap!

I told the couple my age because I’m on a mission to get people to stop thinking about numbers and start thinking about what makes life worth living, what choices each of us has, given our circumstances and the differences in our bodies.

I have no formulas or secrets. I’m often bored and annoyed and irritated by all the “good advice” spouted by experts. I particularly dislike the term “superagers,” as if there’s an aging test and people are scored according to outcomes designed by gerontological experts.

Maybe it’s because I’m turning 90, but I’m often asked how I keep in shape. So, dear readers, in case you’re interested, here’s what I currently do.

I’m grateful.

To maintain my ability to move I start each morning with a short exercise routine. Twice a week I hike in the mountains. For me, hiking is medicine. It energizes my body, lifts my spirits, and eases inner darkness. I also do a Pilates class once a week and work once a week with a woman I call my “Big Toe Coach” because she reminds me my big toes have to hug the earth.

I work on the following with intention and attention to the mind/body connection:

• Balance
• Power
• Energy (chi)
• Flexibility
• Endurance
• Strength
• Space—between the top of the hip bone and the bottom of the lowest rib
• Breathing
• Ease and grace
• I have acupuncture and shiatsu twice a month.
• I massage my feet and legs every morning and night, thanking them for continuing to support me.
• My daily treat is a quarter of a pint of coconut milk coffee fudge swirl ice cream—sometimes more.

Three years ago I adopted a feral cat who bit and scratched at every opportunity. Her behavior made it clear I could look but not touch. Although I’m bigger and stronger, we’re equally stubborn. I needed cuddles so I created a behavior modification program, which continues, despite her occasional protests. Now she sleeps with me, sometimes allows me to snuggle with her, and is friendly toward people who come to the house. Love wins.

The world has attached too much power, criticism, judgment, and supposed wisdom to numbers related to aging, ignoring the fact we all age differently. What really matters is finding a way to live a life you choose, as best you can, given the circumstances of your life. Obstacles abound. Humor is essential. Luck helps.

If you’d like to ask questions, comment, or post your stories about aging—the number doesn’t matter—please do. Let’s create a community of people sharing stories.

90 rocks!

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