A desparation is in the air—I guess it’s always been there to some extent—that I don’t remember
seeing as a child. Maybe that’s just because children don’t think about stuff like that. There
is the ever-increasing hum of a social consciousness that drives us in despair for the need to repair our
bodies, and thus our lives, so that we can live forever and ever.
If the Bible were true (and I believe it is), then the life on the “other side” is going to be more glorious
than anything we can imagine. The streets will be paved with gold, cities of marble, and we’ll
all be in white garments or something. That’s fine. The best part—and I’m serious here— will be
bowing to the King, the Lord Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God. Worthy is the Lamb.
He has covered all my sin with what he did (and what was done to him) on the Cross. And it’s available
to you—for free.
Taking care of our bodies is a commandment, more or less. That is, take care of what God
has given you. Don’t over-indulge (or is indulgance the same as to over-indulge?).
Anyway, we have become increasingly obsessive (or over-obsesive?) in our drive to get in shape
(or get back in shape). If only we knew then what we know now. When you’re three years old, you
can still put your foot in your mouth and bend your body in crazy ways. One thing I personnally
need to work on is stretching … with arthritis, especially, it’s difficult to reach my toes. Putting on
socks takes a heroic effort (yes, it’s ‘a heroic’ (hard h) and not ‘an heroic’ with a soft h. Think Liza
Doolittle.) Anyway, two or three times a week we meet on Zoom (daughter lives in Alaska) and
do a stretching workout for 30 minutes. It’s a good routine for me and it helps me mentally too,
but what really encourages me is seeing my seven-year granddaughter and three-year old grandson
stretch and curl themselves into magnificent pretzels. Their bodies bend in remarkable ways.
So, wouldn’t the reasonable mind decide to continue working on stretching every day in order to
never lose that ability? But almost nobody does, though a few trickle through, mananging to keep
their flexibility. They grow up to become gymnasts or contortionists.
Life gets in the way. It’s exhiliarating going through school, studying what possibly will become
your profession and scoping out possibilites for someone who will become your lifelong mate.
You’re on top of the world (regardlesss (almost) of GPA). As the upper classman (whom you have
seen passed out, lying face down on the floor in the dorm hallway early on a Saturday morning because
he couldn’t find his room key) attains respectable employment, you think, “Hey, I can do that
too.” Then the market crashes and you’re stuck with a “you didn’t apply yoursef for the past three
or four years, so here’s what you get, buddy.”
But I’m off-topic. Back to it. We need to take care of what God has given us, but we aren’t called to
obsess with it. Oh, certainly, we need (to at least try) to excel at what we’re doing. Our diligence and
hard work will glorify the Lord. Over-obsessing, if there is such a thing, can deter the luster of that
fire. Hard work can be difficult to discern from mania of some sort.
Dear me. I’m not being clear. Of course, we all have moments where we’ve needed to come in and
do the impossible—to do something that solves a major problem for somebody, either at work all
night to make some software perform correctly for a customer demo the next day, or to stay up all
night with a sick child, applying cold washcloths every hour to keep the fever down. It’s not healthy
to do this day after day, night after night… unless you’re called to it, of course.
But what about this obsesion to be perfectly fit? I read recently of a forty-something man
taking monthly infusions of blood from his seventeen-year old son, thinking that keeping his blood
young—and having injections of fresh salmon oil in his skin, or something like that—will keep him
from aging. Of course, he’s a fanatic in the gym. But what purpose does that serve?
I understand the tendency . My mom told me once that she was afraid whenever I took an
interest in something new because I always became obsessed with it (where “it” may have been
practicing the tuba into the wee hours of the morning, or memorizing pi to 100 decimal places, or
(which was not infrequent) was often “my new girlfriend from school”).
A National Review article I recently read said that with the current knowledge in medical
science, the average lifespan, at best, will end up being somewhere around 110-115 years. If the
organic parts of ourselves can’t last any longer, maybe the robotic parts of ourselves can last longer.
I spoke with a man at a cookout last night who was told forty-five years ago that his kidneys
would fail in less than two years. But … he altered his diet—just a little, dropping out potatoes and
some breads—and he was in good shape until last fall, when he was hit with Covid. Covid brought
him so much vomiting and diarrhea that one of his kidneys failed from the dehydration.
Anyway, we’re not really sure what my life expectancy is. There’s not a lot of data on people
who have had Parkinson’s Disease for 25 years. I’m in my 24th year now and managing fine (well,
ask my wife for an objective opinion. She’s probably more realistic than I).
In the initial stages, the physical decline and cognitive decline seemed to go hand in hand. I
found I was no longer able to solve the hard problems, to make the right decisions at times, and my
perception of priorities and responsibilities was distorted.
But it was the physical decline that really took hold … balance issues, dragging my legs,
which eventually turned into shuffling feet, then lots of falling. Still, for a while I was feeling strong,
and I continued running and walking. I preferred running over walking. My running distances decreased
only slightly at first, and I was still running in the thirty to forty miles / week, even climbing
to fifty-six miles over Christmas break just months after I was diagnosed. Within a couple of
years, though, I was down to ten to fifteen miles/week and soon withered down to five or six miles.
When I was twenty-six—pre-PD, and in fact pre-marriage—I ran a 5K in seventeen minutes.
Yes, 17. Actually, that was the second half of a 10K race. The first half was 17 minutes 14 seconds,
or a total of 34:14 for the 10K. I impressed even myself with that run. It helped that it was a small
race (only 40 some runners) and I started ON the starting line, not way back in the pack. And the
race producers were playing inspirational rock-and-roll for the duration of the race. Long live Rock.
And the weather was perfect. And the paved road/trail was perfect. (After I got married, I never
again beat 36:00 minutes. I guess priorities changed.)
I ran a 5K with my younger daughter just two years ago, and I (well, “We,” since she stayed
with me the entire time) finished in 49 something. Or was it 59 something. I don’t remember. I do
remember the two emotions I felt that morning as a cold mist fell on us while we were crossing the
Finish line. Number one, I was embarrassed at my time. Note that the first time I ran a 5K, with
very little training, I ran it in twenty-one minutes. (I was 24 at the time.) I wouldn’t get used to this
49-minute stuff for quite a while yet.
The second emotion I felt was an overwhelming gratitude for my daughter, who encouraged
me and cheered me on, all the way from the start to the very finish. As an aside … my daughter
is now a PA, a certified Physician’s Assistant, specializing in Geriatrics. She handles old folks quite
well.
I think there should continue to be efforts made to make life as comfortable, affordable, and
LIVEABLE as possible. But life can’t—nor should it be made to—last forever. I don’t want it to
last forever. Why? As I said earlier, life is going to be so much better on the “other side.” As Jesus
demonstrated on the Cross, death won’t keep the resurrected body from leaving the tomb.
Live however long you can, or how long you are able. God’s will will be accomplished regardless
of your attempts to change his plans for your life. But when you get to heaven, and you
discover that you could have been there years ago, it’ll be like realizing you’ve been eating at Little
Caesar’s all your life when you could have been eating at Fearrington House every day. (Not to
knock LC’s; I’m just trying to compare low-cost faire with gourmet.
Don’t last forever. You don’t want to. Where you’re going will be that better place that we
were trying to make on our old, dying earth. It will be a new day.