I guess it has to happen

      Rationally, I recognize that "no one gets out of here alive."  However, it's not a part of the plan that I'm particularly enjoying.  

    I hit 72 this year, and it hit right back.  In this post, I will not succumb to the temptation to which many of my fellow septuagenarians fall prey, that of participating in "organ recitals."  These are recitations of maladies and operations and medications and ailments from which they are suffering.   These discussions at times seem to be competitions to see who has the longest amazing list of such.  

    In defense of my fellow Old People (ohmygosh, am I an 'Old Person'?!), these concerns understandably begin to squeeze out other things in life as they occupy more and more attention and resources.  But it's frustrating, and, agreeing with the poet Dylan Thomas' plea to his dying father, I'd rather "not go gentle into that good night," but rather "rage, rage against the dying of the light."

     OK, a little example of the frustrating slippage.  As other posts have indicated, I've enjoyed riding bicycles through the years, and I think I can account for about 120,000 miles while on two wheels.  At times, I've used a heart rate monitor to help judge or push my fitness level.  I would hit 180 beats per minute at maximal effort, but after a while I laid the chest strap aside.  

    I recently put a new computer on the handlebars and synced the monitor again.  Huh?!  Even at maximal, hardly-able-to-breath effort, I couldn't get past 154 beats per minute.  What?!  Is this thing broken?  I just got it!

    The internet explained to me that with age...uh, oh.  Maximal heart rate, as well as individual cardiac stroke volume, blah, blah, blah all decrease with years on the odometer, and no, David, you are not going to be able to keep up with the 29-year-olds, no matter how hard you train.  Darn it!

    Frustratingly, mental acuity slips.  Frustratingly, mental acuity slips.  Did I already mention that?  Faces and names are apparently kept in separate drawers, and at times they don't communicate.  I still enjoy reading, but I can no longer give you as many details of the book I just finished, or remember the title of that really good one I read last year when comparing lists.

 

    So, what's up with all of this?  Well, thinking historically, we're not generally constructed to live this long.  In 1500, the average global life expectancy at birth was roughly 30 to 40 years.  Note, however, that this low average did not mean adults routinely dropped dead at 35; rather, it was heavily driven by catastrophic infant and child mortality rates, where roughly one-third to one-half of all children died before reaching adulthood.  Adults who made it past their early years frequently lived into their 50s, 60s, or older, much like people in later centuries.  But we have stretched that expectancy even further, and so things that weren't a big concern in 1500 become common.  My brother the retired orthopedic surgeon maintains that joints didn't have to make it to age 85 in the old days, and my friend the ophthalmologist says that although cataracts will happen to everyone eventually, they weren't as big a deal when The Plague or bad diet were going to get you before that point. 

    So, what's really up with all of this?  Speaking from an evolutionary, biological point of view, it makes sense.  Having a bunch of old examples around with limited resources available gives less opportunity to experiment with new 'improvements' in the species, and thus the eventual continuation of that species.  

    However, I believe that there's something else going on.  I am convinced that this is only one (extremely important) part of a much, much longer existence.  We are here to experience and accomplish things that can best be done in this chaotic, cruel, beautiful, complicated, marvelous phase, but we're not supposed to be here forever.  There are other things to learn and to do, other spheres in which to progress and become wiser and better.  

    And so, as frustrating as this aging thing is, it's gotta end this way, opening another door.  Can something be learned even from the breaking down of this physical vehicle, marvelous as it has been?  It's hard to accept, but probably, yes.  Patience, acceptance, understanding, kindness in response to the suffering of others can all be learned a bit more thoroughly as one passes through this.  Some of us are given the seeming favor of a quick, clean passage, while others are not.  

    OK, but am I ready to quit trying to learn how to kite foil?  Are there places I still want to visit?  Grandkids to watch grow up?  Absolutely!  And I'll try to keep trying, but with the overall perspective of an ongoing existence after this part is over.   

    Now, where did I put that stupid heart rate monitor?

Dave