Columnists
Age and treachery
As much as I don’t like to think about it, I’m not getting any younger—but being old has an upside. Yeah, it does. I’m not saying I’ll use my elderliness as an excuse to get out of doing something, but sometimes it’s definitely to my advantage to be as old as I am. For instance, I don’t actually have to ask for a senior’s discount anywhere, anymore. Most retail clerks look at the grey hair and automatically adjust the wrinkles and the bottom line on the cash register. The first time the senior’s discount happened without prompting I was a bit miffed, but I got over it.
Recently, I’ve noticed our children, whenever they’re nearby, jump to help lift heavy things for me. “Let me get the breadmaker down from the top shelf, Mom.” Or, “Mom, I’ll help you move the picnic table so Dad can mow the lawn.” Since I have no shame, I just let them help “the old lady” out. I do wonder if it ever occurs to them I do all of that stuff, without their help, when they aren’t around. My kids are cute, but interestingly enough, it isn’t just my own kids who’ve cottoned on to my age. A young fellow at the gym once offered to unload the weights from the bar after I finished a deadlift set. I laughed and asked him where he was when I was loading the bar at the start of the set and when I was doing the lifts. I even suggested he could have done the lifts for me. I don’t think he understood the irony. Of course, I let him re-rack the weights. I’m old, but I’m no fool. It was the same kid who said “Whoa” when he saw me key in my age on the treadmill. He sweetly told me I was older than his grandmother. “As old as that?” said I. On the other side of it, some of my old friends don’t understand why I go to the gym. A few of them have hinted I might be too old to workout. I countered by suggesting they were too old to be so naive about strength training.
Ah, aging. It’s as difficult to navigate the being older thing as it was to remember to use the facial cleansers, toners and moisturizers when I really gave a crap about what people thought about my looks in my younger days. The money I have saved because I don’t care as much about my looks fuels my love of travelling and going to the gym. Seriously, I don’t spend 70 bucks on a facial cream with retinol or a skin brightener, I’m 70 dollars closer to a dream destination or extra personal training sessions. Heck, the money I save on hair products alone has more than paid for a trip to see my kid in Manitoba. I know Manitoba isn’t a dream destination, but seeing my kid is. I’ve learned to pack a baseball cap and embrace the wildness of my hair. Additionally, as far as what I look like goes, the moolah I don’t spend on froufrou clothing more than pays for my gym membership. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d rather be old, strong and healthy than picture-perfect from the neck up.
Truthfully, my passport photo has never been frame-worthy. My driver’s licence photo is reminiscent of a mug shot and I think it helps to look as if you really, really need medical assistance on your OHIP photo card.
Earlier this year I was fussing about getting older. And then? Well, and then I realized I couldn’t do a darn thing about it. And as LOML sez, “Growing older is better than the alternative.” Indeed.
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