When Your Limits Come Down to Meet You

Tomorrow, the 20th anniversary of 9/11, is also the end of my 87^th lap around the sun; Sunday, I'll start the 88^th.  It doesn’t get old, just older.

Last Tuesday, Ann, Roger W, and I took a “’moderate” seven-mile hike in the north Cascades to fish Lake Valhalla on the Pacific Crest Trail.  Total elevation gain 1,500’. We met several PCT’ers, most of whom had started at the Mexican border last April and were now nearing the finish. Their energy and speed are awesome. 

And mine? I was shocked by how tuckered out I was after but 2.5 miles and 1,200’ or so.  The leaden legs begged to stop every 20 yards.  My A-fib kicked in, providing a handy excuse – except that before it did, I had been struggling with what would have been a nice workout just a couple of years ago. 

My chums suggested turning back but I didn’t want to disappoint them nor miss throwing a line in a pristine lake on a stunning fall day. They were genuinely concerned for me (and probably for themselves, envisioning having to schlepp him back up from lakeside to Union Gap from where it was all downhill back to the trailhead.) 

Up we went, over the Gap at 5,050' and down to the lake. A bite to eat, rig up, cast to rising trout.

 

My hiking partners were concerned; I was shaken. Sure, I’ve been aware of that malady called AGE. It’s been harder getting out of the shell now that we are back to crewing. I'm more wobbly; I don’t have the upper body strength of before; I tire in the stone yard after three hours, And I’m a bit whifty at times. I’ve always believed in willing my way through anything, but Tuesday’s drama has shown me that my limits are shrinking, coming down to meet a diminished me. 

How much faster and further to go? What will give out next? So far, I have been undeservedly blessed. Many of my classmates are gone. Some have lost beloved companions; others are struggling with progressive disease or cruel injury. I have so much to be grateful for.

Since Tuesday, though, sobering thoughts have haunted my days and nights. Will I have to give up our annual Sun Valley ski trip? Are things in order for Ann and family? Get going on cleaning out those office files and closets full of hobbies and junk! And -- no more cases of wine futures; start drinking your inventory.

I’m still willful: don’t get old; get older. The challenge is how to enjoy older, how to stay interested and interesting, to care. My only answer is to keep working Fletch Waller’s Three-part Mission Statement: 

Though still shaken, I’m thankful for Tuesday’s wake-up call on the Pacific Crest Trail. Come Sunday morning, what do I intend? What will I make of this 88^th lap? How many strikes do I have left?