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I’m not suggesting I’m an old gray mare. In fact, I won’t even admit to being old. I’m oldER—73, to be exact. But the last few months have taught me some things about paying heed to my aging body.
I did three canoe trips this summer, albeit short ones. One was actually a kayak trip, but five of us paddled Saganaga and had to enlist a canoe to stay within the 4-boat limit. That trip went well; we moved from island to island as we explored the big lake for five days. No portages.
My second trip was a women’s trip—with portages. We paddled from Poplar to Horseshoe the first day. Only two of us four could carry a canoe, and we double-portaged, making more trips to keep the packs a manageable weight.
On the second day we fought serious wind and waves down the south arm of Horseshoe, but we managed. Once we got to Gaskin, though, progress was nearly impossible. I paddled my hardest (and I’m a strong paddler) but barely made progress. We pulled into the lee of an island to discuss our options. “Do you think we can make it to that spot?” Annie said, pointing about 50 feet up the shore. “It’s a little more open and we can sit out the wind there.” Slightly protected from the wind, we managed to paddle all the way up the island, to a campsite. RELIEF! I was exhausted. We were windbound for the rest of that day. I might have soldiered on when I was younger, but not at 73.
We paddled the next afternoon, and the waves were manageable. Our reward was spotting a cow moose and two calves browsing Gaskin’s north shore.
We took a different route home, adding two short portages. The first had such a steep beginning that we had to heave our canoes up the rock face. As I headed off with my canoe, I prayed it wouldn’t be like that at the end. It wasn’t.
The second portage was gorgeous, its myriad rocks covered in thick moss that glowed green in the morning light. I picked my way carefully between boulders, conscious of the risk of falling. Well, I did. I fell sideways, the canoe yoke crushing my ear as I fell. My only other injury was a bruised shin. I had to wait for help to get the canoe back up. I was OK, but what if I’d been hurt badly? That’s always been a risk, but at 73, it’s greater. Lesson learned.
In late September my siblings gathered in Lanesboro for three days of biking. Our time together is precious, and we put on a lot of miles. Too many for someone who’s hardly biked all summer. My knees complained bitterly, so I took ibuprofen—vitamin i. By the last morning my knees were screaming; I could barely walk. The pain persisted; apparently, I’d developed patellofemoral pain syndrome from overuse. Terrific. I spent weeks icing and resting, and the pain finally eased. Yet another reminder to take it easy on this declining body. Sigh…
This old girl definitely ain’t what she used to be, but I’m determined to stay as fit as I can. Life is still good. In fact, it’s great!
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