Possibilities beckon

In the years and days gone by, for coming up on twenty-five years, this is a place where much Wilson family life has transpired. Especially summer time life.

It is the specific place where each of our five children learned to be competent and reasonably strong swimmers. This goal was especially important to a mom who grew up in Florida where swimming pools and oceans abound. When our sons were coming along and participating in summer swim team year after year after year, many values and lessons were learned.

Through the years, both hurricane damage and financial struggles have threatened to shut this neighborhood gathering space down. But dedicated, hardworking and creative people always found a way to open the doors on Memorial day weekend and provide a much desired respite from the months of North Carolina heat.

Right beside this tree surrounded summer oasis, there are two tennis courts. Most of the summer days of our boys’ childhoods were spent on the courts or in the pool and most often in both places. Because of the effects of a nearby creek, the courts were always cracked and almost always had grass and weeds growing up through the many crevices in its surface, yet children still learned to serve and volley on this imperfect terrain. Sadly, the unfriendly elements won the battle for this space. There are dreams and plans to reinvent this fenced in territory in days ahead, but for now there is silence where the back and forth of tennis ball connecting to racquet as well as the sounds of mostly friendly competition used to float through the air.

Our boys were more of the “coach’s award” type kids than MVP winners. I am happy that they were teachable and cooperative as they learned skills and played away their summer days.

For such a small, modest neighborhood swim club, there have been a high number of swimmers sprinkled throughout the neighborhood that earned college scholarships. There was even one guy who was part of a gold medal winning relay team in the 2012 Olympics. Charlie is kind of a neighborhood legend, and some of our sons’ best swim team memories happened when they were called upon to swim relay races with this lightning fast neighbor. As anchor, he could always bring it home.

This is also the place where our youngest daredevil daughter began jumping off of the high dive at a very young age. The lifeguard on duty encouraged and cajoled her and off she went. The bribe was a “jolly pop” - a frozen, sweet, forever 25 cent treat that comes in red and yellow and green and blue and orange and my personal favorite, white.

Despite the myriad country clubs and fancy pools in our city, the girls’ friends are always so very excited that we are heading to this particular pool. As one of only a handful of pools within our city where a high dive remains (I understand that if it ever breaks, it can never be replaced due to insurance restrictions), many hard working and handy people have figured out ways to keep this rite of childhood springboard open. It truly is a special place.

When we moved away from this neighborhood a few years back, I knew that when the soaring heat of summer came calling, I would miss the convenience of a two- block walk to this magical place. That has played out. We now drive the 15-20 minutes to get there, but the visits are infrequent enough to have become impractical. Life changes.

The other day, I drove up to this spot where I have spent hundreds of summer days. As I recalled many lovely memories, at the same time, I felt a bluesy sadness in my gut. It became clear that it is time to say a kind of goodbye to this peaceful oasis in the woods. This will be the last summer that we are formal members of this “anyone is welcome club” (well, anyone who can pay the dues).

As with so many other recent milestones and passages, it is not just about a longing or sadness around hanging out in this particular space. As I look around at the new and young families splashing around and enjoying the hot summer days, there are fewer and fewer that I recognize. “Six and under swimmers” turn into kid catchers who then post up on the lifeguard stand. It seems to happen overnight as the circle of life is played out right before our eyes. My own children are growing up and three of them are in fact grown. Life rolls on.

I, myself, feel a bit like those crackled tennis courts. A small and specific territory that is ripe to be re-made and re-purposed for days ahead. There are feelings of nostalgia about what has taken place in the past coupled with hopes and dreams about what is to come. There are endless prospects and an excitement around the choices before me. With gratitude for the past and the path I have taken, I also look forward to the shifts and transformations ahead. The possibilities beckon.

A tweak and a groan

This post is dedicated to all of my friends and family living life north of 50.

It is a personal source of pride and sometimes a dwelling space for a bit of internal show-off mentality - postures of mind and heart completely contradictory to the practice of yoga. My head stand. It always feels good to be the oldest lady in the class who is one of only a handful who can stand on the head. Over time, I have learned to move with control, especially on the descent. But we all know what they say pride comes before…

And so on this particular day, I was slowly coming down out of this posture, with my legs straddled, when I felt a small tweak and then an inward groan. Though my husband assures me that he had this experience during his intense sports playing days, I myself had never experienced a groin pull. Until that day.

I remember when I was a regular runner (a more accurate description would be jogger, though I realize that word is quite out of fashion these days) in my late 30’s. There came a time when I grasped the reality that I had passed my peak and prime. Even though I could keep up this activity for a time, I wasn’t going to get faster and most likely was on a slow physical decline in that area. In actuality, this particular form of exercise became a casualty of back-to-back spine surgeries. My physical therapist offered these words: “If you tell me that you can’t live without running, I will work with you to minimize risk of injury, but given your physical make up, I recommend that you find other ways to pursue fitness.” I surrendered. Pounding the pavement was not the best way to address my personal fitness needs given the physical body that I was granted.

This give and take process has only become more complex as I age. My dad assures me that it gets even more complicated and often says, “old age is not for sissies.” These days it feels like a giant tightrope walk to stay healthy and strong without doing too much damage along the way. I recently had a bone density scan, and I have the mild beginnings of osteoporosis. I was chatting with my naturopath about this, and she recommended jumping on a trampoline or repetitive lifting of 3 pound weights. Great, I thought. Those are things I can work into my routine.

With fair warning from a close friend on the possible issues for women my age of bladder leakage while jumping, I set out to jump for 10 minutes. About 5 minutes in, my left foot began to hurt. It was an issue that had taken three podiatrist trips, one orthopedic foot specialist and an expensive pair of orthotics to address. Ok, even if my bladder can handle it, jumping on a trampoline is not my answer.

So the next time I was doing my cardio workout at the YMCA, I picked up 3 pound weights and swung them in all sorts of directions as I moved. But after several go rounds of that solution, my sciatic nerve began to call out to me. NO WAY I am going back to that kind of back pain if I have anything to say about it. I have settled on using 2 pound weights, for now.

I could tell you several more tales involving issues of everything from teeth to cholesterol level to sleep, but I will spare you the details. Suffice it to say that I find myself in the same circuitous inner dialogue over and over. “If I do this, it affects this, so I need to do this, but then it will affect this” and then doing my best to choose the healthiest path forward. Many of my current fitness challenges are complicated by the presence of a 10 pound inner tube that has taken up residence around my waist since I was ushered into the passage called menopause. So many things to consider and balance.

In my 30’s, it seemed as if life would go on forever. Rationally, I knew this was not true, but it sure seemed like the challenges of middle and older age were in a very distant place. That distant place arrived in a hurry.

I have learned the importance of listening to my body and giving honor and space to injury and breakdown. Despite my desire to head right back into yoga classes that have the descriptors of power, intermediate and level 2, I am learning to be content in the yoga practice called gentle. They are lovely classes in a very different way. These experiences are also a reminder that when this body and mind know that it is time to take yet another step away toward more appropriate exercise as I age, there will be another place for me. I hope that by tuning in more fully to what my body is saying to me, I can avoid a few of the tweaks and groans.

One of my yoga instructors often ends class with an encouragement to be grateful for the bodies that we have. She reminds us that there are those who for many a reason are not able to be on the mat at all. As I approach the days and years ahead, no matter which yoga postures I can and cannot do, I wish for my heart to be always in a posture of acceptance for what is coupled with gratitude. I am convinced this will lead to aging with more grace for myself as well as spill out and over onto others. Namaste.