Two weeks ago, surgery restored my smashed left elbow to something like its previous shape. The next morning, after surgery, another doctor gave me some stunning news: I needed to start taking large doses of Vitamin D right away and when I get home, call the hospital and come back for a Dexascan. The doctor said I had low bone density, a significant Vitamin D deficiency and said I should join an osteoporosis support group.
Wow!!
I knew this day was coming. Someday my bones would be frail enough that it would be stupid to ride a bike. I did not know the day would be so soon.
The strange thing, from inside my mind, was my feelings of excitement—not loss or panic. Since the early 90s when I became bike obsessed, every day, every trip, every vacation, and all future plans were built around riding. I took two bikes to Iraq on deployment. I took a bike with me on more than 30 business trips in three years between 1998 and 2001.
One of the first things I thought about was how different the world would look if the bike were not part of the trip. I have been to Paris two dozen times in the last two decades. I have never been to The Louvre. Because visiting the premiere museum in Paris takes all day and when I am in Paris some part of every day, I ride with the racers at the daily training race at L’Hippodrome in Bois de Boulogne. One way or another, The Louvre never happened.
I then imagined myself walking across every bridge from the Eiffel Tower to Ile de Cite because I would not feel the need to ride.
As I healed from major injuries several times over the last 30 years, my focus always was getting back on the bike. When I broke my neck, I spent 90 days in the neck and chest brace. On the 91st, I rolled down the hill I crashed on. Now, I was oddly delighted that I would not be focused on getting back on the bike. It was a relief.
I knew Old Age would impose limits on me, like not riding, but I expected the limits to feel like fasting or waiting in line—deprivation. But against all my expectations, I feel excitement. I have a new frame to view the world. I started thinking about moments over the last five years when I began to deal with the effects of change from aging and other causes.
If I had to date the beginning of Old Age, I would say it was July of 2015. On June 30, 2015, I retired. I had worked summers and Saturdays and sometimes after school since I was 12. I had a full-time job from my 18th birthday until the day I retired. I have not worked a day since. I have not missed it. In June of 2015, I went on my last Army training exercise and took the Army fitness test for the last time. Soon after, I left the Army. With the rise of Trump and his popularity among soldiers, I was glad to be gone. It was a big change to no longer be a worker or a soldier, but after a half-century of defining myself as both, I was neither and I was unexpectedly happy.
I started meditating. I started taking Yoga. After years of resisting both, I was open to both and began practicing. I am currently not doing Yoga in part because of COVID-19 and now because of my injuries but have been meditating daily for years.
Also, in 2015, my workouts changed. The swimming and running that carried me through an Ironman race in 2014 were history for me. Both shoulders had torn ligaments. My left knee ached and would be replaced three years later. No more Army fitness test meant no more pushups. The bike was my only workout besides yoga.
And coincident with my own advancing age, in 2016 America became senile. America elected a racist who wanted to make America white again.
Since 2017, much has changed in my thought and spiritual life because America is in rapid cognitive decline. More on that soon.
