When my dad passed away he was just a couple months shy of the birthday that would make him exactly twice my age. To all appearances, he was in better shape than I was. As a carpet cleaner, he was in almost constant motion. I know, because I worked with him from the time I was old enough to scrape gum off the floor. For hours every day he was on his feet, sidestepping back and forth, forward and backward, sweeping his arms.
Not aerobic, but it sure beats sitting at a desk all day.
Obviously, his heart attack came as a tremendous shock. He wasn’t overweight and didn’t look anything like you’d expect of someone in his early 60’s. Meanwhile, I was careening toward obesity and on medication for tachycardia and high cholesterol. Size medium t-shirts stretched tight across my belly so I’d started buying larges even though they were too long. I thought I was still strong with good endurance. Maybe I was.
But my back and knees hurt all the time.
After Dad was gone I had to face some difficult realizations. I’ve always known that Social Security is joke and that short of a miraculous windfall I too will work until my dying day. There’s every reason to think that I’ll need this body I live in to last a long time. Keeping things in good, working order requires some maintenance and, early on, a lot of repair. I also knew that Mom would need me, and while I don’t think God will take me away from her, I wanted to be as capable as possible.
Being fit and healthy would help.
Vanity never entered into the equation. Sixpack abs were for the guys in 300, not for me. Sure, after every breakup I always dreamed of turning myself into an Adonis, but I didn’t think it was possible even if I had a clue how to achieve it. When I really started getting serious about my health ten years ago, I didn’t have an endpoint in mind. I knew I was in a bad place, I knew fitness would only get more difficult to achieve and maintain as I got older, and I knew (though never consciously thought about it) that others were counting on me.
Since then, I’ve lost 75lbs and kept it off.
For a while I was even leaner, looking like Brad Pitt in Fight Club (yes I have shirtless pictures, and no I won’t share them... today), but that just can’t be maintained for very long. Also, with clothes on, I just looked gaunt. Only Brad Pitt and the Hollywood elite can look good with or without a shirt at such a low percentage of bodyfat. Maybe I’ll do it again someday, just for fun.
Yeah, “fun.”
But what’s really amazing is that my joints don’t hurt anymore. I have more energy, a clearer mind, and I’m not as depressed or anxious. Last spring, when the basement flooded, I hauled hundreds of gallons of water up the stairs and outside, knowing full well I couldn’t have done that as a younger man. I hope I don’t have to deal with that again this year, but I’m not worried by the thought that I might.
I’m up for the challenge.
Today would have been Dad’s 73rd birthday. My whole world, and the world in general, look very different now than it did when he was here. I look different too, and I hope I would have gotten in shape even if we hadn’t lost him when we did. I was already moving in that direction. Today my body is tired and sore from a week of daily, intense exercise. Now I’m looking forward to a weekend of recovery. By Sunday night I’ll be ready to get back at it. And I will.
Because I still don’t know how much longer I’ll need this body I live in, and it has to be maintained.