My husband has been running for years.  He is a foot taller than I am, almost eight years younger than I am, and I outweigh him by at least ten pounds.  He does marathons (including eight Bostons) and I am Cheerleader-In-Chief.  That's the way it's always been, and I've been pretty comfy with it.

Somehow in the last week or so the cumulative effect of sitting over my computer like the Hunchback of Notre Dame has flicked some switch inside me, so I went for a walk.  I just wanted to stretch.  Really.  But I found myself going from a fairly decent walking pace to jogging and I'm not sure what went wrong.  The scariest part about this is that I rather enjoyed it, so I did it the next day, too.  And the next.  In the past seven days I've run six times, each time around two miles.  The astonishment I feel at not having to stop and gasp at the end of every second driveway is truly mind-bending.  I have tried running before and the internal monologue usually went "OK.  Just to that light pole and then we can sit on that bench in the shade."  But I've been running pretty far without stopping.  Don't tell anyone, but there have also been a few hills involved.  My image is shattered.

The picture of the elegant silver-haired, smiling runner above is not me, by the way.  I don't look anywhere near that happy while I'm chugging along.  Nevertheless, I am pretty pleased with myself.  I bring my mask in case I run into people (because I am a responsible person who believes in science) but I seldom have to put it on because people take one look and give me a wide berth.  Then one day I had what Oprah calls an "aha moment".  It was easier to run because although I am older than the last time I tried this, I'm also twenty-five or so pounds lighter.  During the enforced time at home, along with learning Italian on DuoLingo, I have also finally been paying some attention to the Weight Watcher suggestions I've been paying for and ignoring for years.  It was an effort to feel in control of something, ANYTHING, in a world that suddenly felt very out of control.  There is so much going on that I can't do a thing about, so I'm picking my tiny battles and every now and then I win one.  

I make no vows here.  I have zero interest in doing a marathon, a half-marathon, a 5K, or pretty much anything else that involves people.  Running at my own pace with my own thoughts is a pleasant little diversion and I'm good with that.  For now.  It could all end tomorrow and the inspiration fairy or a twisted ankle could pull me down off this smug little "high" I'm on.  But for right now, for the first time in months, I am feeling empowered.  How about that?  

In the wonderful musical "Gigi" Maurice Chevalier sits at a table with Hermione Gingold and sings a song at which I used to bristle.  The song is "I'm Glad I'm Not Young Anymore", and I thought it was defeatist and sad.  Guess what.  Now that I'm there, my attitude has decidedly changed.

Once upon a time I assumed I'd be retired at my age and sitting on the porch reading all the time, or doing volunteer work somewhere, or finding a "cute" hobby.  None of those things has happened.  During the pandemic I have appreciated having some sort of structure to my day.  Of course, that means sitting in front of the fireplace for hours at a time, hunched over my (well...the office's) keyboard.  Lately it's been dozens of Go To Meetings a week and trying to make my tri-focals work on a spreadsheet the size of Cleveland, but things will calm down again.  

Meanwhile, I was getting tired of being constantly afraid of the virus, and the politics, and the rudeness and insensitivity of people.  So I stopped. Being young these days has no appeal for me.  My sons have both graduated from fine colleges (well...one's still in a PhD program, but it's coming in May), and have a spirit of adventure.  They've each packed (in days "BC", "Before COVID") and taken off for Europe for a week or two with nothing but the clothes in their backpack and an open mind and heart.  In my wildest days I would NEVER have dreamed of doing that.  Hostels?  Are you kidding me??  But now I'm so glad they did while they had the chance.  The future of the planet, politically and ecologically, is looking rocky on a good day.  I try to have faith in the upcoming generations to dig us out on both counts, and I am encouraged, but I don't envy them the job. 

This is where the "age" thing comes in.  I have finally figured out what I can and cannot change.  I can't save the world single-handedly, but I raised two very fine young men who will likely make a dent in it.  I have accepted the odd ache and twinge as part of the privilege of having hung around for so long.  Too many of my relatives and friends didn't get the chance.  There are some things I can change. I do not, for example, accept the stereotype of what a person my age is supposed to do or wear or think or feel.  Which is partly why I'm sharing a picture of myself with purple hair.  Because why not?  It will wash out tomorrow, but I might make it blue or green or pink then, depending on my mood.  I can change how much care I give to my body which, in spite of all odds, continues to carry me through time and space.  I take it walking a lot more often now.  I feed it better.  I try to give it more sleep, but that might be on the list of things I can't change.  We'll see.  During this weird time in seclusion I have dropped close to ten pounds.  More needs to go, but my knees no longer greet me in the morning with "the song of their people".  Little victories.

It is a gift to be old enough to know when to ride the horse and carry the flaming sword, and when to sit and listen instead.  What an awakening it has been to find out how much I don't know about so many topics.  I am humbled, but also grateful.  A calm spot has been growing in the center of my being where God and I chat.  Well, actually, I try to spend more time just being quiet and listening for whatever S/He wants to say.  There's power there, and it is something I would never have thought of at twenty or thirty or forty or...well, you get the picture.

Lastly, death no longer frightens me.  While my heart still breaks every time I have to say goodbye to someone who has been sent into my life, I have also begun to make peace with the fact that death is part of life.  My friend David, a gentleman in his 80's who lives in Mold,  North Wales, lost his wife last year.  When I miss a phone call, he sometimes ends the messsage  with "Greetings from Mold and the Realms of Gold" and when I get a card it is sent "with love from David and the Promoted Partner".  What a fabulous way to look at that.  What a cool way to keep our loved ones present.

So, while I'm in no hurry to greet my "Advance Team" as I call my dearly departed, neither am I terrified at the prospect.  As the unbearably corny saying goes, "Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and today is a gift.  That's why it's called 'the present."  I hope you find a way to enjoy each day you unwrap, no matter what it holds.