Grandma GG and Grandpa Hadfield, clear last year
I have started training for a triathlon. This post is not about that training.
It is about being old. And I thought about being old while I was training, swimming to be exact.
We belong to a gym which has been around a long time. Tennis is the big thing there, but because they have good prices, a pool, good spin bikes and good babysitting we have joined up while I'm trying to tri. Lots of locals have been using this gym for lots of years. Many of its patrons are beyond retirement age.
And I love being at the gym with them.
As I tried to count my strokes across the pool last week I witnessed Water Aerobics. a Co-Ed class taught by a retirement aged instructor. It was full. Couples and singles all tip toed into the water. Swim suits were modest, hair caps worn. No one was late, no one was in a hurry. The class began with the music I listened to from the AM "oldies" station that played from the 66 chevy I drove in high school. Franky Vally. Elivs. It's my party and I'll cry if I want to kind of oldies music.
The students were having fun. They were exhibiting signs of joy. First it was marching and working submerged arms; waving and flexing them to the beat. About mid class, they took to the noodles, and straddled them as they bicycled their way into the deep end of the pool.
I watched them peddle under water as I tried, face down, to stroke less and move further with each lap.
as arms and legs wheeled and whirred the giggles and chit chat ebbed. It was a work out, and these were patrons of the gym who had come to better their hearts and their health.
Then, class ended. And here is where the lessons really began.
The students didn't leave. They stayed and visited a while. Checking on one another's children and grandchildren. Making arrangements for tennis matches later in the week or offering to show one another the latest and greatesy genealogy tricks.
They were in no hurry. They did not watch the clock. Time meant something different for them, they were not trying to beat it, and they were not trying to slow it down.
They wanted to connect with other people. Though some names were forgotten, they remembered how they'd met each other and who was related/connected to whom.
They hoped to make life better for others. Genuinely wishing one another well and offering to help with house chores, volunteer work and the like.
They were a little perplexed at the way the younger people were hurrying and scurrying about them. As if they'd never lived in a time or a place where the days were packed to overflowing. No errands to run right away. No expectations for what they'll accomplish before the sun goes down.
I thought about my own little girls who were playing in that moment at the nursery in the gym. My girls have these same desires. They cannot be successfully hurried. They may not know names, but they connect people (that is the girl from church mommy! She is my friend at school! We see her every time we come to this store, Mommy!) with places. They genuinely want to make the world better, and packing days with activities about them or for them will not make them want to move from one of them to the next with speed or efficiency. Time is fluid, it is there but matters little. People and feelings matter more.
In the scriptures it says that we all must become like little children to live again with God. As I stroked my way across my work out last Friday morning I thought perhaps I was grateful that a time may come for me when my nature will move from an overflowing schedule to one where time matters less. And I hope by then I've learned, like the water aerobics students and like my little girls, that people and feelings matter lots more than schedules or errands or even work outs.
It is about being old. And I thought about being old while I was training, swimming to be exact.
We belong to a gym which has been around a long time. Tennis is the big thing there, but because they have good prices, a pool, good spin bikes and good babysitting we have joined up while I'm trying to tri. Lots of locals have been using this gym for lots of years. Many of its patrons are beyond retirement age.
And I love being at the gym with them.
As I tried to count my strokes across the pool last week I witnessed Water Aerobics. a Co-Ed class taught by a retirement aged instructor. It was full. Couples and singles all tip toed into the water. Swim suits were modest, hair caps worn. No one was late, no one was in a hurry. The class began with the music I listened to from the AM "oldies" station that played from the 66 chevy I drove in high school. Franky Vally. Elivs. It's my party and I'll cry if I want to kind of oldies music.
The students were having fun. They were exhibiting signs of joy. First it was marching and working submerged arms; waving and flexing them to the beat. About mid class, they took to the noodles, and straddled them as they bicycled their way into the deep end of the pool.
I watched them peddle under water as I tried, face down, to stroke less and move further with each lap.
as arms and legs wheeled and whirred the giggles and chit chat ebbed. It was a work out, and these were patrons of the gym who had come to better their hearts and their health.
Then, class ended. And here is where the lessons really began.
The students didn't leave. They stayed and visited a while. Checking on one another's children and grandchildren. Making arrangements for tennis matches later in the week or offering to show one another the latest and greatesy genealogy tricks.
They were in no hurry. They did not watch the clock. Time meant something different for them, they were not trying to beat it, and they were not trying to slow it down.
They wanted to connect with other people. Though some names were forgotten, they remembered how they'd met each other and who was related/connected to whom.
They hoped to make life better for others. Genuinely wishing one another well and offering to help with house chores, volunteer work and the like.
They were a little perplexed at the way the younger people were hurrying and scurrying about them. As if they'd never lived in a time or a place where the days were packed to overflowing. No errands to run right away. No expectations for what they'll accomplish before the sun goes down.
I thought about my own little girls who were playing in that moment at the nursery in the gym. My girls have these same desires. They cannot be successfully hurried. They may not know names, but they connect people (that is the girl from church mommy! She is my friend at school! We see her every time we come to this store, Mommy!) with places. They genuinely want to make the world better, and packing days with activities about them or for them will not make them want to move from one of them to the next with speed or efficiency. Time is fluid, it is there but matters little. People and feelings matter more.
In the scriptures it says that we all must become like little children to live again with God. As I stroked my way across my work out last Friday morning I thought perhaps I was grateful that a time may come for me when my nature will move from an overflowing schedule to one where time matters less. And I hope by then I've learned, like the water aerobics students and like my little girls, that people and feelings matter lots more than schedules or errands or even work outs.
Well said. I think I'm going to make that my goal- to slow down more and connect more.
ReplyDeleteAs we age we become like children in so many ways, the way you share if beautiful!
ReplyDelete