Underdressed and Cold

"She understands now what she, 

in all her worry, had forgotten.

That even as she hesitates and 

wavers, even as she thinks too much

and moves too cautiously, she doesn't

always have to get it right.  It's okay

to look back even as you move forward."

Jennifer E. Smith

 

As I age, I find training myself to stay strong to be so different than when I was younger.  Mainly, I suppose, because of recovery time changing.  But also due to other things perhaps such as the laziness factor. Additionally, I suppose, there is the idea that I have been there, done that so many times.  Once you have conquered something, done something successfully, doing it again, while still quite sweet and bringing a sense of accomplishment, does not have quite the same shine as the first time:  the first triathlon, the first PBP, the first kiss.  Riding or running used to be just disciplining myself to put one foot in front of the other, to turn the crank over and over, and that worked.  And it still works, but not as easily as it once did.  Mental? Physical? Probably a combination.  

 

So I worry a bit about plans for a ride followed by a walk after my morning weight workout when I find it is one of those days when it takes more effort than normal to lift the same weights.  That usually happens only when a. I have gotten out of my normal routine or b. I am  not fully recovered or c. I did not sleep well.  There are, however, times when it just crops up unexpectedly.  It happened when I was younger as well, but not so often and did not hit so hard.  And when younger, perhaps, I was more likely to skip the weights as muscle retention was not quite as vital as it is at this stage in my being.  

 

I  am just tired.  I toy with canceling, but know that it used to be, when I was doing triathlons, that going ahead with the workout was one way of extending endurance and keeping tiredness at bay in the future.  Only by pushing boundaries do they seem to recede.  And I have a century I hope to ride this coming week-end. I struggle with determining if that is still a useful strategy and really don't yet have an answer.  I will give it a go.  And I will forgive myself if I am wrong.

So I go to the ride.  Jon has planned a route to Lexington from Madison that is supposed to be 35 to 40 miles.  Of course, I should have known better: Jon consistently underestimates the mileage on his routes.  Unfortunately for me, not only is the distance longer than anticipated (43 miles), but I find as the sun hides behind clouds in anticipation of the coming snow, I have not dressed warmly enough.  Three miles is nothing on a warm, pleasant day, but today it is like eternity. When Jon asks about stopping at a store to warm up before proceeding, I even toy with the idea of telling him I will stop and asking him to come pick me up, but I firmly squash that thought and tell him it is best to continue riding.  It brings back a memory of a cold, winter century ride with Bill Pustow and Steve Rice.  It was our second century of the week-end, both in freezing weather, and I mention that I might turn around.  Jaws dropped as they urged me to continue with them.  And, of course, I did.  Was the end of that ride miserable?  Was I as cold as I am today or just tired?  I don't remember. 

 

 

From the store stop at Lexington to the end of the ride, I am freezing cold, miserably cold though I never reach that stage when one's whole body shivers involuntarily making it difficult to remain upright on a bicycle.  Jon occasionally urges me to pick up the pace thinking that will warm me, but what he does not realize is that this pace is it for right now.  The gas tank is nearing empty.  In my mind I think backwards to times when I perhaps asked more of others than what they had to give at the time and ask forgiveness for my naivety and for the arrogance of youth.  Or perhaps it is there and the reluctance to increase my pace is mental.  Regardless, it is there as tall and strong as any wall.  Today, I fear, I lack the strength, mental and/or physical, and  I will not break through. 

At the store we are verbally accosted by a man outside that obviously has some issues.  It makes me sad, watching him struggle to communicate while knowing how vital communication is for a meaningful life.  He incontestably has limitations and is lamenting that nobody listens to him, that we will be getting seven inches of snow.  How sad it must be to have one's opinion continuously discounted, justified or not?  Later, while Jon is in the store, he informs me he also has visual disabilities and that people criticize him for not working but he does the best he can.  And in the end, perhaps that is what we all do, the best that we can do with what we have been given.  How easy it is for us to feel superior without really knowing what we would do in similar circumstances.  Perhaps rather than feeling so smug, I think, I should be extra thankful.  My parents were not perfect, but they met my needs as best they could.  My education was not Ivy League, but it was a good education that I should, perhaps, have made better use of it.  My mother received adequate prenatal care.  She probably drank while carrying me because it was their wont to have a martini before dinner every night, but she was not an alcoholic and did not use drugs.  My father did not beat me or molest me.  Blessings.  

And so, despite feeling as if my toes are blocks of ice that will crack and fall off at the slightest jolt and that I will never be truly warm again, I ride to my car, grab a warmer garment, and head out for a four mile walk, working my way through the tiredness that has only been exacerbated by the cold.  Looking back again, I remember jumping off the bike and hitting the ground running rather than walking.  Just as back then, it takes a bit for my legs to allow walking to feel natural rather than stilted and forced, as if it is a new motion.   But they do loosen though I never lose the tiredness.  I "think" I even manage a decent pace for most of the walk.  Still, rather than lamenting, as I sometimes do, that a ride or walk or hike has come to an end, I am happy to return to the car. And  hungry.

As we drive to a well deserved and much needed dinner I think that perhaps not only is okay, as Ms. Smith notes, to look backwards as we move forward, but necessary to plotting a successful course forward into this unknown morass known as aging.  If, indeed, there is a successful way to age. For it seems to me that aging, while it brings certain advantages, brings more than its share of losses, particularly the losses of people and abilities.  Regardless, it is the way of things.  Old age is uncharted territory, known only through living or vicariously through the writings of others. And I am grateful for that which I have been given.