What I Did On My Summer Vacation

This summer, my financial times aren't tough but neither are they golden. I've worked fewer hours. I had to buy a couple tires for my car. Insurance prices have increased. And so on. And so on. And so on.

I pulled my purse strings as tight as I could but still couldn't eek enough out of my budget for a summer vacation. No early morning walks on tropical beaches for me. No second (or third) cocktail at a bar on a cruise ship where I didn't have to be concerned about driving the next day. No "yes-I'd-love-dessert-after-my-steak-dinner" dinners.

I accepted my situation but was also feeling a little deprived.

What to do?

I signed up for summer camp.

No, not the kind of camp where you make keychains or learn to code or ride gentle horses.

I signed up for an Olympic Weightlifting class.  Actually, it was 6 weeks of twice a week classes. When I saw the notice for the class, I was immediately interested. It worked out to less than nine bucks a class. I would be making a commitment to drive across town in evening traffic but it beat sitting on the sofa all summer long.

Lifting has become my favorite part of CrossFit. It appeals to me for reasons I'm not entirely clear about but when I see strict presses or deadlifts on the white board, I'm excited to get to them. I think it may boil down to my competitive nature. I may not be able to run as fast as most and burpees wear my ass out quickly but I can hold my own in activities that require an element of brute strength. I get a little thrill out of seeing that I'm posting a relatively high number when we report our scores for a lifting workout. Still, complicated technical lifts have been known to intimidate me. Remember, I haven't been squatting much since a big arthritis flare in my knee sidelined me in November of 2017. Also, I may be one of the only people who ever hurled a PVC pipe at the athlete in front of me when going through snatch drills. I'm not the most coordinated person you'll ever meet. Intellectually, I thought an Oly lifting class would help me "get the steps down".

So, back to the actual Oly lifting class. When we gathered for our first session, the coach asked us to state our goals for taking the class. I opened my mouth and out fell my vulnerability.

"I want to have less fear and more confidence."

Where did that come from??? I'd told it to hide deep down where I was the only one that knew how I really felt. Yup. I was afraid of hurting myself and I wasn't confident in my ability to move more weight safely. So much for looking at my motivation intellectually. Isn't that how it often goes, though? We have these sunny, positive goals that are safe to put out for general inspection but when the deep, dark, scary stuff is exposed...

There's a fine line between humility and shame.

Each class, I was forced to examine my weaknesses and my strengths. There's no hiding when you're one of a handful of athletes under the watchful eye of a skilled coach. Grace saw everything and it became easier to trust my physical AND emotional learning to her. I can't begin to imagine the vast knowledge she has around lifting - and more importantly - around coaching lifting. I don't need to imagine it, I've been living with the outcomes of her application of that knowledge.

I fully committed to her programming. I attended each class and did the homework. As the weeks went by, I began to marvel at my accomplishments. Yes, I can squat. Yes, I can squat much more than I thought. And yes, I can perform snatches and cleans with much more weight than I ever imagined possible. I'm still not comfortable with split jerks and given my knee situation, I may never become so. I'm OK with that. Deciding to do a push jerk instead of a split jerk comes down to that humility vs shame thing. I'm good with being the strongest humble athlete I can be. I'm not good with being an injured athlete who is ashamed at not knowing better.

So, that's what I did on my summer vacation. One of the best yet.

Thanks to Grace Lin for being such a great coach and to CrossFit Central Houston for providing such a valuable program.  Also, thanks to Viv. She's about the best lifting partner a gal could ever ask for. I like to travel with friends, and she made this staycation one for the books.

Let's Talk About Age

My 59th birthday is approaching with force and velocity over which I have no control.  For some reason this seems like a bigger deal than 60.  Maybe I'll change my mind next year but at some point (in my 40s, maybe?) marking decades began to take on more importance to me than marking years. After next Friday, I'll start rounding out my 5th decade. Although I don't have an expiration date stamped on me,  I am aware of an underlying sense of urgency about my life and my accomplishments.

Birthdays are funny.  We go to bed one age and wake up the next day another. We haven't actually aged a year overnight but we sometimes act as if that's exactly what happened.

I'm not 58 years old. I'm 58 years and 360 days old.  Not quite ready to call it quits.

I had a text interaction with a friend earlier this week that initially caused me to bristle. Long story short, she told me I'm an inspiration and she hopes to be "as dedicated to fitness in my later years as you are at your age." It's not the first time this person has mentioned my age to me and I was, honestly, a little stung.  Here was a young, beautiful, strong woman telling me I was...let's just say it...old. It hurt a bit. But, why? Why should I be hurt by someone stating her truth?

Giving it a lot of thought I've come back around to the 1st line of my 2nd paragraph (above). Age is approaching with force and velocity over which I have no control. Anyone who knows me will tell you that loss of control is crazy-making for me. Take a look at my linen closet and you'll realize that I'm a woman who likes order. My spice cabinet is an even better example.  Allspice is left of basil which is left of cardamom, etc, etc.

Aging is an unknown. I have no idea what might come first or what might not come at all. There are  shit-tons of variables lurking in the upcoming decades: illness, financial challenges, climate change, political upheaval, loss of friends/family.  When will my hair finally tip over to full-on gray? How deep will these wrinkles get? (Why, oh why, do I always come back around to the physical?)

So the question is: How do I control something that is uncontrollable? Time -by definition - ticks on.

I prepare for it. That's how.

I nourish my body and my relationships. I get stronger. I stock up on what I'll need to make it through those challenges. I build muscle. I build friendships. I build my reserves.

"Old" is not objective. It is a subjective construct. When I was 25, I thought 60 was old.  Recently I've shifted more to thinking 80 might be old. A few weeks ago I attended an 80th birthday party for a friend who does yoga daily and works at a fairly demanding job. Each time I see her, she's impeccably dressed. She's not old by any measure. So, 80? Not so sure anymore. Perhaps 90.

Getting back to that text conversation. I bounced my immediate emotional reaction off my brother (a wise man of 57) and he advised me to cut her some slack. It's a matter of perspective. I don't know why my friend thinks I'm in my "later" years or even what she means by "later".  Her life experience is as much a mystery to me as mine is to hers. My mom died at 45. I don't have a close frame of reference for "later". Such a smart guy. We (my brother and I) joked about just how very kick-ass we will be when we're 80 and beyond. I look forward to that.

I'm also looking forward to relishing each day as it comes. With maturity I've honed in on what brings me happiness and what detracts from that state. I'm grateful that some of the very activities that help me live longer also make me happy. My goals for the next year:

Lift heavier
Live lighter
Get stronger
Try harder
Listen better

Quantifiably, I have specific lifts with target weights I'd love to hit before I'm 60. I think a personal record (PR) of 300# in deadlift is reachable for me and I have plenty of room to improve my back squat, bench press, and strict press.

Every day is a PR, when you think about it. We wake up and we've lived 1 day longer than we'd lived yesterday. When I look at it this way, "later years" sounds pretty good. I hope my friend who unwittingly pushed me to putting these words out there for all to read knows how much I appreciate her. This is about my truth and I'm grateful she helped me get around to it.