At 72 the surprise of frailty when one’s body has been strong is a tonic, a shot of humility that does not go down easily but is a necessary reminder of how quickly all of this world will be gone. Recently, I ate a meal of bad curry and shrimp, a dish I don’t think I will be able to look at ever again.
It knocked me off my feet for 24 hours. Even my heart problem never touched me like this.
I threw up and lay in bed, unable to get warm, my energy level as close to zero as it has been in many years. Off and on I slept for 12, maybe 15 hours and then felt fine, myself, robust, but I carry the memory of that 24 hours closer than would have been the case even 5 years ago.
When I was 29, I took a NOLS course in the wilderness of Wyoming and Montana. We were out for 30 days carrying 60-pound packs over difficult terrain, all the time being taught classes in high mountain flora and fauna, geology, map reading, emergency medicine and climbing. For the last 4 days of the course, the NOLS leaders broke us into small groups, took away all of our food except for 1 emergency meal (1 meal only for the entire group), showed us our exit and pickup point 60 miles away and then left us. We had to find our way to our pickup and do so while cooperating as a group, all this while burning roughly 5000 calories a day.
On the last night before pickup, we camped less than 2 miles from the site. In performing all the tasks necessary for camp-set up, all of us moved as if we had been drugged. We had expended roughly 20,000 calories without taking anything in except water. Our 1 meal was long gone, dished out to a group member who had fainted from hunger while climbing a drainage to the top of a ridge.
My body would not take my commands to move more quickly. I took 10 minutes to walk from a stream to my tent, 60 feet up a slight incline. Will power exerted no control over my weakness. I wanted to go, but I panted and stood immobile instead.
This was the first time I really understood how much I relied upon my body to buttress my belief in my control over my life, and the first time I understood in the most visceral way that I would die.
I had been reminded of this a few years ago when my heart almost exploded, but this recent moment at 72 brought it back to me –no matter how hard I work at the gym, how much I walk, how often I perform physical chores, this body will grow weak and may do so in an instant.
This does not make me afraid and not because I am very courageous. I think of it as the contract that binds us all. As it is, our entrance into this world is pretty miraculous. We pay for it with death. New life arises, the old must make way.
I want many more years, of course, but a meal of bad curry is a mild way to once more let me know to be thankful for the 72 years I’ve been granted and to use well whatever time is left.
