Glimpses of youth in old age

  

One evening about a year ago, I caught a glimpse of youth. 

Two high school students had attended our “mature” adult badminton league. They were carefree. Joyful. Merciless. 

While prone to youthful mistakes, they never wavered. They were undaunted by the grizzled veterans they played against. And as the games went on, they only got better. After nine p.m., I just want to go to bed. 

Since the pandemic, our badminton league has undergone a generational change. Our average age dropped from 45 to 25. Everyone over 50, so it seems, has left for less competitive leagues, or even worse, pickleball. 

Recently, I ran into our league’s former president, a man only a few years older than me. When I asked why he stopped coming to badminton, he said, with a hint of sadness, “I’m tired.” His eyes looked heavy and burdened. Nothing like the young men I had played against a few weeks earlier. 

What’s happened to my older (sometimes not much older) friends? You can’t just throw in the towel because you're "tired"! At one time, we had an 80-year-old play in our league! He would stand at the front of the court while we ran around him. We were glad he made the effort to come out. 

It's risky to stop doing things because, once you stop, you might never start again. At a certain age, your body will beg you not to. 

After a long night of badminton, it’s not an exaggeration to say that I limp. Whether it’s soreness in my feet or my hip, I limp. This past year, I’ve been dealing with tennis elbow, which has incapacitated me in more ways than I thought possible.  

To be fair, I’ve always had soreness after badminton, even in my twenties, but I wonder, am I reaching the point of no return? Will I one day not be able to get up the next morning?  

We know that the human body starts to degenerate after 30. But how much? How fast? At times I worry. 

Last year, when I had hip issues, I immediately got help. I saw my doctor, a physiotherapist and a chiropractor. I got x-rays. 

My new mantra is, better safe than sorry. I lucked into (yes, luck!) a specialist who suggested I get a colonoscopy when I was in my late thirties. As it turned out, I had a polyp that’s at high risk of cancer. They snipped it right off and, two more colonoscopies later (I should get a pin), I haven’t had one grow back since. 

I never used to worry about colon health. But at 47, better safe than sorry!  

Last year in spring, I signed up for a community program that focuses on developing core strength. While I was never one for weightlifting, I needed motivation to build some muscle on my frail 150-pound frame. I worked out with people in their 50s and 60s, and I felt like I belonged. 

If there’s anyone who gives me hope, it’s the 70-year-old who dances with us in our Ukrainian dance group. He learns every move like the rest of us 30- and 40-somethings. And although he asks if he can go home after the first twenty minutes of every practice (a joke that never grows old), he stays with us for the full two hours. 

But does age really matter? I mean, clearly it does, but if you keep up an active lifestyle, you can go on for years. Not with the same reckless abandon I witnessed in those two young men, but carefully, cautiously, you can keep doing the things you’ve always enjoyed. 

And when you see the young do the same activities with twice the energy, you'll have new admiration for youth. Last week I caught myself telling my daughter how nice the young man was at the drugstore. He was! But jeepers, did I sound like an old man (I realize that by using jeepers I may have made that even more evident).

To be fair, I'm sure he perceived me as an "older" man. When I was his age, I lumped everyone over 40 into a group that I really didn't try to understand. They had money, kids and mortgages. Some had health problems. That's all I knew.

Now I too have a little more money, a family and some health problems. And so the cycle of life continues...

People on the street I meet (no judgement)

  

I want to preface this by saying that most of the people in the park by my workplace are fine, fine people. Nothing wrong with them at all. Occasionally, however, I will come across some who are what we might call different. I’ve encountered more than a few on my noon hour strolls and, I’m sorry if I sound judgemental, but why don’t you be the judge? Let me tell you a few stories about the people on the street that I meet – not every day – but every once in a while... 

 

Last summer, I was walking my regular noon hour walk through the park, when I came across a middle-aged woman sitting on a park bench facing me. She looked like she was resting, enjoying the day. But as I walked past her, she said something to me rather quietly. I pulled out my AirPods (I don’t walk without them) so I could hear what she was saying. I thought maybe she was asking for the time. 

She continued in a quiet tone: “Are you following me?” 

I wasn’t sure if this was a joke. I remembered seeing her once before in the distance, but paid little attention. I looked around to see if anyone else might be “following her” but it was just her and me.  

“What?” I asked, to make sure I hadn’t misheard her. 

She asked again: “Are you following me?” 

I laughed nervously. Was this a prank? Judging by the serious look on her face, it was not. So I shook my head and pointed to the building across the street. “No, I work over there. I’m just going for my walk.” 

With that, she nodded her head nonchalantly and said, “Okay.”

 

Another day, while walking by our city’s newest, coolest outdoor pool (it even has slides), I came across a man, probably in his seventies, who looked a little underdressed – as in, not wearing enough clothes. 

My first thought was that maybe he was at the pool and came straight out with Speedos still on. But no – I recalled seeing him on the pathway even before the pool... And as I got closer, there lacked any evidence of Speedo material – or at least how I suspect Speedos to look, as I’ve never actually seen a Canadian man in his right mind wearing them. No, this material looked more like cotton.  

Could this man really be sporting black underwear with white crew socks and runners? 

I got close enough (but not too close) to confirm my suspicion. This was for real. He walked without hesitation or embarrassment, and without any pants on whatsoever.

 

Another interesting man used to frequent the park near my workplace. I don’t mean to mock him because he clearly had a mental condition and, based on his language, likely had a severe case of Tourette syndrome. 

I felt bad for him, but I also felt sorry for anyone unaware of his condition, as he would seemingly direct his swearing at you as you walked past him. If you listened carefully enough, though, you would understand that he wasn’t cussing you out. He was cussing out Calgary, namely their football team, the [bleeping] Calgary Stampeders. 

We had gotten so used to him that when he walked by our office picnic lunch one summer day, we just smiled and nodded as he let the obscenities fly. We were okay with it. It was the Calgary Stampeders, after all.

Again, no judgement.