The stray hairs, the pockets of blubber, the facial crevices, dimming eyesight and faded hearing are constant reminders of my body maturing on the downside of the hill. There was a time when, as a child, I attempted to don one of my favorite summer outfits only to find that it no longer fit. I don’t recall any consciousness of growth in the interim between wearings. Other than markers of puberty, it seems that children’s bodies mature without self-marvel while, technically “elderly”, I am in awe daily at changes in my body. Is anyone ever really prepared for it?
Today our Zoom “Guts and Butts and Yoga” class began with marching. Still recovering from partial knee replacement, I rock gently from foot to foot. No squats, child poses, lunges, or table tops for me. Thankfully, the instructors are marvelous at encouraging modification. I don’t get any closer to the floor than downward-facing dog or risk spending the remainder of the day in shavasana until someone can help me get up.
One annoying feature of the aging body is the increased length of time to heal. Whether a cold, a cut, or surgery, the healing process is slower and requires more attention than when we were young. Being clueless about the expectations for my partial knee replacement recovery, I resumed physical therapy. What a relief to be told that I am actually doing quite well. Just as liberating is having questions answered, processes explained, expectations articulated. I am excused from lunges, squats, anything on my knees, and curtsies (apologies to HRM). Meanwhile Stacy the PT lined up my legs and coached me to climb steps properly.
The best outcome is the hope that I will march again. I expect to avoid lunges, squats, and curtsies forever. Some things are best left behind.
