My wife Amy and I have been sharing that mantra with each other for the past few years when we go for workout walks and mountain hikes. We feel healthy and are in pretty good shape, although I won't say "for our age". That's too limiting. Last year we bought matching shirts that said "A Little Fit / A Little Fat" that were a big hit at last year's Wharf to Wharf. We're older parents now with teens in tow and grateful we haven't had many debilitating injuries. Our kids are grateful, too.
I had knee surgery in 2014, which put an end to my running days. That was because of a torn meniscus that proved to be worse than the MRI showed. I had fallen a few times on runs prior to that, most likely damaging an already tearing meniscus. I recovered and moved on to walking and hiking. No bike riding, though. We've tried but just never became a biking family.
Last year Amy rolled her ankle on a hike. She was sore but thankfully wasn't out of commission too long. Second to "don't fall" is our rule of never taking your eyes off the road or trail we're walking on. Especially mountain trails. That's what she did, and her foot slid off a root she didn't see to anticipate adjusting her footing.
In 2017, I did have a bizarre infection health scare that I never fully understood at the time or since. One that put in the hospital for night and left me with an awkward and painful healing process. Our kids were much younger then but old enough to be worried. It certainly sucked but I eventually recovered.
Otherwise, we've each had other physical tweaks in our necks, backs, and knees. We recovered nicely from each of those, taking care of ourselves and not pushing it when we couldn't or shouldn't (except me at times unfortunately). Each time our kids remind us to slow down and take care of ourselves. I'm six years older than Amy and I was 42 when our oldest Beatrice was born and 44 when our youngest Bryce was born. When I look back at one of the earliest posts on Get Off The Ground about being an older parent, I have to smile.
The question is – do Amy and I worry about the fact we're older having children? Not really. I mean, yes, I imagine what it will be like, banking on the fact we'll be in pretty good shape mentally, emotionally and physically – along with having contingencies in place just in case. But no, we're not that worried about it at this point.
So, here we are. We've made it with falls and all.
"Don't fall." The words collided with my other thought in that moment -- How did I lose my balance? After walking our dog Jenny thousands of times over the past six years, I had never lost my balance. Until I did.
I had reached down to pick up Jenny's poop, just like the thousands of times before that, and instead of standing back up cleanly, I spun slowly and fell to the sidewalk onto my right side. I tried to break the fall with my hand holding Jenny's leash, but it didn't work. I'm lucky I didn't break my wrist trying. I felt my ribs compress upward and inward. It hurt. A lot.
I laid there for a moment, still holding the leash, and Jenny just stared at me, waiting to finish her walk. I stood up and was able to walk. The right side of my ribs were sore, but all my limbs were scrape free and intact. I finished the walk and told Amy what happened. A week later I went to get an X-ray that revealed I had a hairline fracture in one of my ribs. But two weeks after that I was healing just fine.
"Don't fall." The words continue to haunt me because now our kids are on me about it. And sure enough, less than three weeks after that fall, on one of our mountain hikes I tripped and strained my right foot under my big toe. The part where you push off when walking, running, or jumping. I don't run anymore, and I don't jump much, but I do walk. And play the drums.
I'm recovering from that now, but damn. It's like I need all the automated warning alarms built into our fussy EV. And even though my family thinks I'm still fussier than the car, I need to do better job of embodying the "don't fall" mantra and watch where the frick I'm going. All the time.
