Resolve

It's been on my mind since I was outpaced by Mr. Country club. Unless you're living it, you don't really know. Getting old doesn't just happen to other people.

It comes on slowly. At first there's these little astonishments. The mechanic refers to your new car as an 'older model.' The cops look like kids. Your favorite books have faded on the shelf. The underwear drawer looks like its filled with cleaning rags. Before long you develop an indifference to food stains, forgotten zippers, and mismatched socks. Then you'll notice that the eyes don't focus, your best friend's name eludes you, your hair grows in the wrong places and you must grunt to get out of a cozy chair. About that time you could detect a tingling in the toes, ringing in the ears, a persistent change like a wonky leg, and the daily jolt from what peers back in the mirror. But those are niggling irritations compared to recognizing that all those old people are your peers and realizing that you are part of nature's disappearing act.

No point in being distracted by the inevitable. I'm doubling down. Starting today, I resume Angel's Sadistic Physical Therapy regimen.

Look closely,
the knee is wobbling

In one humbling routine, you place one foot on a step, hold your arms akimbo and slide your other foot into the air. In this precarious balance, you do one-legged knee bends and try to keep your knee from wobbling. Desperation is a stronger incentive than hope.

Meanwhile, the word is out. My wife has been on the phone talking to our friends. "He's going to hike the John Muir Trail."

They are an over-educated, opinionated lot who all hiked before raising families and grinding out the competitive challenges of an 80-hour work week. We collectively refer to that time as 'when we were younger.' It's now a favorite topic of conversation second only to the latest malady.

Just yesterday I was talking to my old college buddy Swonk, the certified, know-it-all. He's accumulated enough letters after his name to create an alphabet. "I hear you're going to hike the John Muir Trail?"

"Right."

"Good to know." Swonk is non-committal when most disapproving.

Siobhan, Swonk's wife, and my wife are fast friends. Siobhan is the bright light among us. Even her teenagers seem to want her company. It must have something to do with her annoyingly positive temperament and infectiously endearing humor. In the background I heard her say, "I think he should do it." I prefer Swonk's disingenuous approval; it seems more reliable.

My neighbor Don is always ready to share his thoughts. He does this fabulous Foghorn Leghorn imitation. "Well son, do you need to borrow a gun?" He wasn't just ribbing me. He grew up with guns, carried an M-16 and a M-21 in Nam and has an arsenal in a locked cabinet. I don't own a gun. He thinks I am an idiot going into bear country unarmed.

Our friend Tim is encouraging because he's well meaning and Sofie suggests caution because she confuses worry with truth. Nancy is sympathetic to the idea, but quick to provide ready-made excuses in the likely event of failure. Jim is worried sick. Then there's Bill who thinks it's a grand idea because he can see Mount Baldy from his Century City office and Connie who, in her reliably plain-spoken manner, thinks I'm utterly out of my mind.

By contrast our talented millennial friends Addie, Jimmy and Julie, Mitch and Kymie are all enthusiastically supportive, but their judgement is impaired by a moral obligation to respect elders. They are only just learning the frustration of having your parents ignore your advice.

For the most part, I can't say much. How do you explain the stirring of the walk, the changing landscape, the vistas? The best thing is to just get up the hill and stick with Angel's Sadistic Physical Therapy.