Wit and Wisdom
by Beth Broderick
“You’re doing that? You’re up in the hills alone like that? On steep ridges?” my sister-in-law Sarah asked with a look of concern.
When she put it that way, I had to admit it sounded a tad off the beam. I had been explaining that I feel more confident hiking in the hills and on the ridges alone with my dog Fairness, because my pal Dean gave me a cane with a stun feature on it that can ward off an attack from human or animal, should need be. It can also stabilize me on steep paths and prevent me from going ass over teacup down the slope to my doom.
One particular ridge, which is a route to the caves where my neighbors and I often meet with our dogs, is very frequently populated by several coyotes. I love coyotes and I am never afraid of one or two, but when there are several, I get a bit tense. It’s also steep with a sheer drop-off, so one has to place one’s feet just so. The cane gives me confidence in the precarious situations that, to my sister’s point, might be best avoided in the first place. Hmmmm. Got me thinking.
My friend Russell recently visited for a week. He brought his dog Ted, and I was excited to show them both my morning routine of hiking in the hills of Griffith Park. They were willing, if not exactly eager, to head out first thing in the morning on those expeditions. Ted was especially unenthused, but they joined me and Fairness—good sports both of them. The mornings were chilly and wet with dew and even a few bouts of rain, but we trekked on. Russ and I pointed out particularly gorgeous bits of architecture on the streets and vistas in the heights. There is a lot of beauty in these parts, a tonic for the soul. Ted is not a morning dog, but his resistance waned with the passing days, and he began to look forward to our five-mile heart-starter mornings.
Working it!
Then, of course, we hit the gym. I try to go five days a week minimum—a goal seldom achieved but always aimed for. Ted was grateful to be left out of that part. He and Fairness stayed home and rested up for their 5 PM night walk, a short but still challenging hike up to the horse ranch area in Beachwood Canyon.
“You are a maniac,” Russ said, pulling on his sneakers for one such evening stroll.
He was sore from all of the hiking and gym-attending and general go-go-go of being with me. His body hurt. Ironically, when we first met some 35 years ago, he was my physical trainer. I was the one who was sore. He is still a fit person, but as the owner of a wildly successful restaurant/nightclub, he now has a lifestyle that has taken on a more laid-back vibe. To put it more succinctly, he is making a great living in a way that does not involve being on the internet in a bikini at the age of 65.
Outtake from the crazy internet ad I did in a bikini which caused a bit of a stir. 65 and modeling swimwear. NO hash browns were harmed in the making of this photo.
“I wish you didn’t still have to work in front of cameras,” he said. “I wish you could just relax now.”
We were at breakfast. He ordered a scramble with hash brown potatoes and toast. I ordered sausage and eggs, no potatoes, no toast with sliced tomatoes. The morning meal of ancient swimwear models everywhere.
“A few more years. I have promised myself that when I am 68, I can have toast. Like whenever I want it, not just on holiday. Gluten-free, of course.” I smiled ruefully.
In addition to maintaining my appearance, I am working desperately to stave off the progressive degeneration of my joints due to Psoriatic Arthritis. The disease is a bitch. I box with her daily and mostly have her on the ropes, but she is persistent, biding her time. She knows she has the upper hand; knows I will one day need that cane for other reasons.
I went to Palm Springs last weekend on a mission to find some new pieces for my new apartment. I needed a grown-up-sized dining table and some patio furniture for my giant balcony. There are a few other random items on the wish list: light fixtures, gold mirrors of varying shapes and sizes for the hallway. And there is always the chance that some magical item is out there that will put the right finishing touch on one room or another. I was hoping to score, but the searching itself is a delightful activity. My pal Michael was willing to accompany me, and that would make the experience shine.
Score. I fell in love with this Danish Modern table and ladder back chairs. It was wobbly though so I was uncertain. I really wanted it and hated to leave it, so Michael suggested I ask them if they could repair it. They did and it's mine and ya now Char.
I have put off decorating due to… well … the turbulence of the times. My industry has flatlined, and the market fluctuations are putting the nation’s entire financial future in question, so I have been cautious about feathering my nest beyond the basics. Have been afraid to make any big outlays of cash in anticipation of “TrumpMageddon,” but now that it is here, now that there is a definite feeling of freefall in regards to the fate of the nation, I am just going to go ahead and give myself the gift of beautiful surroundings. I will at least have a lovely place to land at the end of each upsetting day.
I took Fairness down to Palm Springs with me. Turns out he is a good traveler—not terribly antsy in the car and very willing to adapt to new environments. I brought my computer and a script I am working on, but Mike and I just sort of drifted into vacation mode. Something neither of us is wont to do or is very good at, but we managed to put work aside. It was fun.
We set out for a gorgeous walk every morning, admiring the hills that surround the part of town where Mike lives. Just four or five miles. Nothing too strenuous. I was looking forward to pool time in the afternoons and then, of course, a lovely sunset walk to cap the day. Mike was game at first; he is an active guy and likes to move.
“Honey, I am sore. My body aches,” he said to me on the third day of our visit.
It began to dawn on me that perhaps I am pushing the envelope of exercise to a bit of an extreme. I am not really sure when my pace began to accelerate. At first, 10 thousand steps a day felt like a good number, but now I am not satisfied with less than twenty. I give myself a break regarding the gym some days. If there is a chance to see a good friend or complete a fun project or even just cook for my clan, I am likely to choose that option, but still, the drive is there.
Russell told a friend that he thinks I never stop moving because I want to live a long life and am determined to be fit for it. When he repeated that theory to me, I shook my head. I have zero thoughts about my longevity. I have watched far too many friends ushered by fate to an early grave. There are not enough steps one can take to ward off our individual genetic destinies. Fate does not care a whit if you did your ab workout as prescribed by the Fitness Gods. Fate knows where you live and will decide how long you live there.
I think my obsession with moving comes from the fear that I will one day not have the ability to do so. Like many folks my age, I hobble my way into the day. I take my first steps in the morning with a body so stiff that I just sort of lurch from one painful foot to the other. I pay that no mind; just finish my tea and ablutions and then bandage both feet, shove them—wincing—into my clown-like orthopedic shoes, and go. And go and go and go and go.
NO PAIN, NO GAIN.
There is a price. I took a long walk before I headed to my desk to finish this writing. When I sit down after strenuous activity, it can be very hard to get up. I will have to push myself out of the chair by placing both hands on the desk and pulling myself toward it. An inconvenience to be sure, but not one that has any influence on my behavior. It’s just the deal now.
That’s a bit of an odd response, I suppose, but I have loved my fit life. I loved the way it felt to move through the world, when my toned muscles responded to the ground below with snap and vigor. I am determined to love moving my body through space for as long as possible, to see as many gorgeous views and hear as much birdsong as time will allow. I am okay with the disease card that I have drawn. We all draw one, and mine makes a kind of cosmic sense. After all, if nature did not take faculties away from us, we would never agree to leave this life, and she needs us to go, needs us to cede our floor time to the next generation. She’s figuring that crippling me ought to be fairly persuasive. Smart gal, that Mother Nature. Knows her audience.
When that time comes, when the cane is needed and the hands gnarl, I will cope with it as graciously as I can, but until then, I am stepping out. I am stepping on it.
On we go …
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