Size matters. No, really. I’ve gotten smaller in nearly every way as I step in to my seventh decade; and it is as it should be. Over the next few months I’ll explain about the incredible shrinking me in several areas of my life: physical, material, and emotional/spiritual.
First the physical. I quit smoking and committed to becoming fit when I was 35 years old. I allowed myself the luxury of eating and I gained 20 pounds. To that I added running- training for 10 K’s and a few half marathons. I ran daily, I ate often, I lifted weights, and life at 185 smoke free pounds felt great. My intention from age 35 to age 40 was to lift large and to run far.
By my age 40 however, my back became a problem. I took up bicycle riding. I joined a team. I took up racing for the next five years. Weekly races, daily training, and pizza by the pound. We called it carb loading. One bad wreck and racing came to a halt by my age 45. CrossFit came next.
At age 60 I was 185 pounds, injured, and beginning to feel my wounds. Arthritis was beginning to set in. My knees, my back, my hips, and my shoulders all became arthritic. The solution seemed simple. I needed to weigh less.
Older must mean smaller, and a whole new way of thinking for me.
More next week.