I Got a Sneak Preview of Growing Old and I Didn't Like It

 

 

 

On the golf course where I first took lessons and played my first thirty or so rounds, Walnut Lane, it is possible to finish 18 holes in 2 hours. It's a short course, and if you drive and don't play terribly, you can whiz through at six or seven minutes per hole. The important thing about this whole scenario is that it helps if you have the course to yourself, which when the weather is bad then you're never really getting clogged up by people playing ahead of you.

I forgot that critical last characteristic when, earlier this year, I tried to sneak a round of golf in before Asher's "First Tee" lesson. The weather had turned for the year and the mild temps brought a bunch of people out even first thing in the morning. I was paired with two newcomers who were worse than me, which is saying a lot, so while I actually got a good start to my round, I had to wait for them to hit five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten times per hole. 

After a few holes of this, I realized that I was never going to get anywhere close to done before having to make it to Asher's lesson, so I decided to tempt the golf gods by breaking off from my group and skipping ahead. Alas, there were two groups ahead of us so I had to whiz past them too, but I figured 14 holes and done on time was better than far fewer if I had just stayed in place.

Alas, I then caught up with some of the younger golfers taking their lessons by playing holes on the course, so I had to whiz past them. At this point, I had worked myself into a fever pitch, which as you might imagine is not conducive to playing good golf. Sure enough, the good rhythm of the first few holes soon gave way to me spraying balls everywhere, culminating in not one but two out-of-bounds shots on a particularly tricky hole. 

In a pique, I drove off to find one of the balls before I had my hands fully on the steering wheel, and Asher and I quickly found ourselves stuck. In a panic, I tried to lift the golf cart out of the area when I felt something pop in my leg. At first I thought I'd been hit by a stray ball, but when I tried to take a step my leg crumpled in pain. I had stupidly torn my calf muscle, and could only pack up our stuff and limp back to the car and drive home.

I went to urgent care later that day, and the doc I saw did a good job of explaining what had happened and what I should do from here. I got the area wrapped, promised him I'd do my best to rest it for at least the weekend, and began fretting over all of the changes of plans this unfortunate injury would place upon my otherwise breakneck pace.

I've been blessed to be relatively injury-free, and even this mishap is small in the grand scheme of things. But it has proved to be a window into what it will like to grow old. And I have to say that I have not liked how I have responded.

A leg injury is a long journey of favoring the area, moving slower, feeling discomfort, and most of all not being able to do everything you used to, or having to do it slower or less long or less well. Thankfully, with injuries, you eventually heal from them, and then you build back up your strength, and then you are back to normal. The restrictions and the discomfort are then in the past, no longer something that hold you back from your best life.

Ah, but some day we all grow old, if we're lucky, and when we do, even if we're lucky we will eventually slow down. Things we could do easily and pleasurably when we were young we find we can only do with great struggle, or perhaps at some point not at all.

A leg injury is a particularly difficult thing for me to bear. Hurting my leg and having to throttle down made me realize how much I enjoy running, how much pleasure I derive from being able to move about fast and without second thought. As I raged at not being able to be my full self, I also thought with horror about a day that such limitations will not be temporary but permanent, and not only permanent but worsening. Such is the inevitable plight of growing old, and I feel more deeply how common it is when people struggle to find peace about the aging process.

A favorite Bible verse of mine is in the Psalms, which says "it was good that I was afflicted, that I may learn Your statutes." Comfort is something we all naturally seek. But discomfort can serve a good purpose in our lives too, by bringing us some critical lesson we cannot easily gain outside the discomfort. I can't say I've fully absorbed this recent lesson, but at least I acknowledge I need it. Slowly and slowly, or all at once, aging takes things from us; would that I am grounded enough to accept and embrace this natural evolution.