In my forties, I took up Racquetball following an automobile accident that permanently inhibited my ability to serve a tennis ball or swing a golf club. New to the sport, I was always eager to find someone to play with and learn from, so when an elderly gent at the club asked me if I would be interested in a game I was happy to oblige. I did not expect a lively game, and indeed in the first few minutes it seemed the match would end quickly in my favor. And then something happened, I lost the serve and it was the last time I got anywhere near the ball until my humiliating defeat.
It turned out my 85 year old opponent was a ranked player and I had been gulled as so many before me into believing that his age was an indication of his ability. In truth, he had limited upper body strength, could not serve up those powerful z serves or return backhands with enormous power. What he had perfected over many years, in compensation perhaps for his diminishing strength, was extraordinary control. He could place the ball precisely where he wished and in short order he had me out of breath chasing it all over the court only to have it die at the front wall or in a corner.
When the game was over I thanked him profusely for the lesson, not only in Racquetball but in life. That lesson is one I am more than slightly aware of as I am about to hit the midpoint of another year. No matter how many hours I log at the gym each week, how many more I spend at yard work and other physical activities my body isn't what it was at 40, much less the age of most of my fellow gym goers. I joked the other day with a friend that a decade ago when I woke in the morning I would catalog what muscle or joint hurt. Now they all do and it takes an hour or so to gather myself for the day ahead. I'm not complaining--I come by those aches and pains as the price for pushing myself to hold on to what I can as long as I can.
But this is not a lament on what I've lost or can no longer do as well as I once could, like my Racquetball playing friend I've gained some things along the way in compensation. Patience for one thing, never my long suit, is a lesson that came after many years of stubborn resistance. I am more inclined to let circumstances unfold than react immediately. Listening, also a trait that I've learned to cultivate later in life, has served me well. The nuances behind the words only reveal themselves when we are not ready with rejoinders or anxious to make our case. And even on the physical level, I've learned to treat my aging body with respect and listen to its whispers.
The real lesson I learned on the court all those years ago was there are always limits, inadequacies and infirmities we must overcome. They do not matter. What does, is our inner resilience, our willingness to remain open and curious--to keep learning about ourselves and the world around us, and to find the core of our inner strength and will at every age. My Racquetball playing friend had a treasured tee shirt that read " Youth and agility are no match for old age and treachery." All of the 30 and 40 something players at the club would laugh when he wore it--we got the joke, although mine would read a little differently: Youth and agility are no match for knowing oneself.
I once worried about aging, feared the loss of vitality, or memory, or intellect. They are real concerns and one day I suppose I'll have to concede to those limitations but that day is not today. Today, I am at my best and I'll be at my best tomorrow and all the days I walk this earth, the best that I can be and that is quite good enough for me.
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