No one turns sixty, we crash into it head-on with no intend other than to survive it. Turning indicates a voluntary action which requires reaching for the turn signal lever and pushing up or down. Not so with Age; it stands determined right in the middle of a one lane road with no shoulders, and only one exit ramp. You either pick it up like any potentially dangerous hitch hiker, or run it down.
I chose the head-on, run 'em down method of aging. No grace, no glory, just guts.
About the only preparation for turning sixty in our culture is a colonoscopy. After which we confidently proceed with the fleeting (no pun intended) notion that life won't be cut short by lethal polyps. But, not so fast, your physician has other terrifying diseases and conditions he/she wants to torture you with: Type II diabetes, hypertension, high cholesterol, joint pain,erectile dysfunction( if you're a woman it won't effect you directly, but trust me, it will eventually), and incontinence; the list is endless. However, thanks to big pharma, there is an arsenal of drugs to alleviate your symptoms and guarantee that your promised three score and ten lifespan is secure. In all probability you will arrive there-broke, and riddled with side effects that turned out to be worse than your initial condition.
You will begin your day with pills, and fiber, after which you greet yourself in the mirror. Avoid the mirror. The mirror hates you and will go to great lengths to distort your trim, youthfully toned body(I'm making up this part about the toned body to make a point). If, however, you believe you look great in the mirror, you may want to check out the possibility that you have cataracts.
At sixty life stops being the one, sure thing you take for granted. You feel little creaks and major dysfunctions: a knee that was always well-behaved in the past begins acting up. At the worse possible moment such as showing your son how you can squat and then rise gracefully proving that you are a long way from needing assisted living. Trying to win this argument while sprawled on the floor is useless.
Okay, maybe an alert bracelet wouldn't hurt. But beware how quickly the "little" concessions to aging begin to pile up. I know somewhere in my future a portable potty is waiting to align itself next to my bed. I only hope by then they will have been designed to look like Wii or playstation component.
At sixty-four I decided to take up roller blading. Why? you ask. Because all of the actuary tables that I had seen never listed roller blading as a cause of death for someone my age. I also took up cycling, rock climbing, kayaking and line dancing. These became my weapons in my war for warding off old age. They could very possibly become the cause of death, but who cares, I am being active. Being active is a term you want to include in your profile on dating sites. This will bring rewarding results.......stay tuned.
