I have seen multiple studies, which claim that to offset the effects of old age and Alzheimer’s disease, it is important to engage in new activities. I find that trying new things can be exciting, but for me, also very stressful. Adventure, while full of benefits, can also be beset by obstacles. And this will keep us young at heart.
After a week of camping in the Teton Mountains, I am here to say that I shall never grow old. It all began innocently, with an invitation to join two good friends on their annual pilgrimage to the Tetons. After mulling over the invitation, I loaded up the tent and the kids, filled the car with gas and headed north.
Obstacle number one: I have never been to Jackson. Fortunately my phone is equipped with a map app that tells me how to get where I need to go. Without that app, I could still be driving around, lost in the mountains. When I finally reached our campground, I felt elated by my success.
Obstacle number two: Slalom skiing. I have water skied in the past. The very distant past, when I was much younger, much fitter, and much crazier. The passing years have made me protective of my body. I don’t want to get hurt. After much cajoling by my friends, and much whining by me, I agreed to try getting up on one ski. And I did it. Once again, the brain synapses began firing in new directions and I felt young and adventurous. The next day, as my shoulders, hips and back ached in pain, I felt neither young nor adventurous.
On the third day of adventuring, as my kids fondly called our trip, I encountered the largest obstacle of all, and it was much worse than getting lost in the mountains or slalom skiing. My dear friend challenged me to ride a stand-up paddleboard down the Snake River. In a wet suit. Panic filled my chest all afternoon, as I contemplated her suggestion. I was already far outside my comfort zone, and felt panicky at the thought of heading into the unknown on a small floating board, while dressed in a ridiculously tight garment.
Eventually I capitulated, but only after being mocked by several small children who clucked loudly like chickens. As she handed me the wetsuit, I immediately regretted that decision. Although the label said “men’s large”, no man I know would fit into this contraption. I squeezed myself into the springy material, grabbed my phone for pictures, steeled my nerves and stepped onto the board.
My legs were shaky but I headed down the river. It actually seemed fun. Then I decided to take a picture of a beaver swimming near me. I pulled my iPhone out of the wetsuit and began fiddling with it. In a brief moment of clarity, I realized that this might not be a good idea, just as I saw the paddleboard slip from beneath my feet.
A wet suit does not keep you dry. Nor does a wet suit protect an iPhone. I grabbed my phone before it sank, and then endeavored to climb aboard the floating piece of fiberglass. The beaver was long gone. For a moment, I lay on the board, humble in my fall. Then I got back up and finished my ride. Gunnar, my ten-year old son did not fall from his paddleboard, and he encouraged me the entire time. He didn’t even laugh when I fell. At the Cattleman’s Bridge, we pulled out of the river, cold, wet and happy.
Climbing out of a damp wet suit is harder than climbing into a dry one. By the time we got back to camp, the sun had set. I was chilled to the bone, but elated. I had conquered the river and my fear of the unknown. At this rate, I really will live to 111.
Namaste Friends
After a week of camping in the Teton Mountains, I am here to say that I shall never grow old. It all began innocently, with an invitation to join two good friends on their annual pilgrimage to the Tetons. After mulling over the invitation, I loaded up the tent and the kids, filled the car with gas and headed north.
Obstacle number one: I have never been to Jackson. Fortunately my phone is equipped with a map app that tells me how to get where I need to go. Without that app, I could still be driving around, lost in the mountains. When I finally reached our campground, I felt elated by my success.
Obstacle number two: Slalom skiing. I have water skied in the past. The very distant past, when I was much younger, much fitter, and much crazier. The passing years have made me protective of my body. I don’t want to get hurt. After much cajoling by my friends, and much whining by me, I agreed to try getting up on one ski. And I did it. Once again, the brain synapses began firing in new directions and I felt young and adventurous. The next day, as my shoulders, hips and back ached in pain, I felt neither young nor adventurous.
On the third day of adventuring, as my kids fondly called our trip, I encountered the largest obstacle of all, and it was much worse than getting lost in the mountains or slalom skiing. My dear friend challenged me to ride a stand-up paddleboard down the Snake River. In a wet suit. Panic filled my chest all afternoon, as I contemplated her suggestion. I was already far outside my comfort zone, and felt panicky at the thought of heading into the unknown on a small floating board, while dressed in a ridiculously tight garment.
Eventually I capitulated, but only after being mocked by several small children who clucked loudly like chickens. As she handed me the wetsuit, I immediately regretted that decision. Although the label said “men’s large”, no man I know would fit into this contraption. I squeezed myself into the springy material, grabbed my phone for pictures, steeled my nerves and stepped onto the board.
My legs were shaky but I headed down the river. It actually seemed fun. Then I decided to take a picture of a beaver swimming near me. I pulled my iPhone out of the wetsuit and began fiddling with it. In a brief moment of clarity, I realized that this might not be a good idea, just as I saw the paddleboard slip from beneath my feet.
A wet suit does not keep you dry. Nor does a wet suit protect an iPhone. I grabbed my phone before it sank, and then endeavored to climb aboard the floating piece of fiberglass. The beaver was long gone. For a moment, I lay on the board, humble in my fall. Then I got back up and finished my ride. Gunnar, my ten-year old son did not fall from his paddleboard, and he encouraged me the entire time. He didn’t even laugh when I fell. At the Cattleman’s Bridge, we pulled out of the river, cold, wet and happy.
Climbing out of a damp wet suit is harder than climbing into a dry one. By the time we got back to camp, the sun had set. I was chilled to the bone, but elated. I had conquered the river and my fear of the unknown. At this rate, I really will live to 111.
Namaste Friends
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