Sucking on Sixty

... sixty years that is. Back in January I rolled out of my 50s and landed on 60. Now, I will admit that at the time, I didn't think much of it. It's just another number, you know? The one that follows 59. I can't say I really felt older cause, well the truth of the matter is that I've felt "older than dirt" for a while. The last 12 to 15 years have been a tough go, and each one of them made me feel like I might not survive them. But, stuff changes, time passes and eventually things start to go back to normal, and you feel like yourself again.

Until you start "doing" things. Things you always did. Then it catches up with you. You realize that you really aren't 30, or 40, or even 50 anymore. Your mind tells you one thing ... your body another. Take this past week. For the last month and a half I've been back doing regular workouts, and that's been okay. Oh sure, a few muscle twinges (that's from the weight bench), but otherwise, doing just fine, thank you very much.

This past week I began revamping my gardens - not big spaces by any means. Not like I used to have. But between weeding (a horrendous job this year - see yesterday's post) and trimming shrubs and trees (not like we have many - just a couple) I was feeling the pinch (in more than one muscle) after 3 or so hours. I spent another 3 hours the second day, + added my workout. After looking up the calories burned in gardening, I decided workouts wouldn't be happening on days I garden. And, (yeah, I know ... don't start a sentence with "and") so far, I've spent pretty much every day this week in the garden for 3 hours or more a day.

Looking at the yards ... all I can think is "why did this take so long"? It didn't

used to. Now it does. I'm old, that's why. Yesterday I pretty much finished up the last of the digging out and moving and replanting and dividing up stuff to give away. I shortened the front garden about 3 feet or so, meaning there's a little less to look after. As I stood looking at it, I wondered to myself ... would I be doing the same thing next year? Making the garden even smaller so I'd have still less to weed? That thought floated around in my brain as I tried to knead the muscles in my aching back. You know, a backache was something I seldom ever dealt with, but it was present (from mild to OUCH) nearly every day this week ... from gardening. You can't tell me that getting older doesn't make much difference. It does.

Okay, maybe not in everyday life when you're just gadding about, but when it comes right down to the hard labour, it does. It makes a difference. Earlier in the spring I started a paint job in our front hallway. One that should have taken only a few hours for the first coat, and roughly the same for the second. It took way longer than it used to. I tired quicker, was less nimble on the ladder, more afraid of falling and busting a hip on the tile floors I suppose ... still, I could do it. Just not as fast, nor as well as before. My son-in-law showed up (weird how I chose Mother's Day to paint) and helped finish the paint job, and kept right on going up the staircase where I had yet to go. In the end, I gave in and hired an experienced painter to do the entire upstairs.

This year at least ... I can see what I'm doing again. I had cataract surgery last year on both eyes because I'd gotten to the point where I was legally blind (see this blog).

I wonder what, exactly, the rest of the year will hold ... right about now we're closer to the end of the year, and closer to that 60 clicking over to 61 ... and wondering how to avoid that. Oh, don't get me wrong ... there are a lot of good things about being older, and being retired, but what I need is for my body to act like it isn't getting older.

Work on it girl ... that's all I got ta say.