I Used to be Cursive But Now I'm Chicken Scratch

I Think My Body's Mad at Me

I’m living a real life Invasion of the Body Snatchers. My first lucid thought each morning is Which version of my body am I in today? Then the follow-ups: Was the bed kind to me last night? Did I pull something rolling over or do damage while dreaming too hard?

Once I’m out of bed, the daily checklist begins. How stooped to the left am I, are my feet locked up today, will I be able to bend over to feed the dogs this morning? (I’ve taken to scooping their kibble and putting it on a high shelf each evening to avoid bending to reach into the dog food bins.) Sigh.

I have a regimen. Pilates twice a week, chiropractor three times a week, walking 4-5 times a week, stretching every day, planks, crunches, blah, blah, blah. And it helps. But I am constantly hit with the feeling that the body I’m living in is not my own.

Barring a few scars and pounds, it looks pretty much the same as always. But it doesn’t function or feel the same. I expected the sagging skin and wrinkles of aging. (God knows women are warned of this particular impending doom from a very young age.) I did not expect my physiology to fall apart like Ikea furniture with too loose screws.

I made my living with my body. (Reading that back I realize how this might be misinterpreted.) Let me explain. My entire adult life was spent as a dancer, choreographer and dance teacher. I recently retired from teaching after 40 years.

My body used to move like cursive writing, all loops and flow and graceful bends. Now it moves more like the choppy scratches of a toddler learning to make letters. As a dancer, my body was my tool - honed, trained, efficient. I used it to communicate, create and demonstrate. I glided through the world with ease and naiveté.

I thought the living of a non-sedentary life would give me some level of protection from the physical slowdown of aging. But I bent and stretched and pulled my body into submission for too many years and in too many ways, I guess. And it did not take kindly to the longterm torture dance does to muscles, tissue and bones.

I now have an artificial hip and an artificial knee. I have scars. I have late onset scoliosis, bone spurs and degenerative discs in my neck and back. Bone spurs and plantar fasciitis in my feet. Hearing loss. I am a full body mess.

I have orthotics and braces and traction devices and special shoes and a massage gun. When I travel I have to be pulled aside from the regular security line and wanded separately due to the titanium devices implanted in me. Who knew I have metal body parts would become a phrase I have to say out loud in public every time I’m in a TSA line. It’s a bit awkward.

I want to apologize to my body. Like a lost love, I took it for granted. Didn’t show it the appreciation it deserved. Pushed it too far. And I am sorry.

Besides carrying me through an entire dance career, it also carried babies. It ferried me across 5K finish lines, marched me in protests, hiked mountains, backdived into pools, healed when it was hurt, sheltered my soul. Like an old house, the foundation is starting to shift and the wear and tear is showing. But it’s home.

Hindsight’s 20/20 (like my eyesight used to be), but the yang to the yin of it all is that I now appreciate my body for the miracle it is. Climbing the four flights to my son’s apartment. Trudging up and down the subway stairs in New York. Walking the trails in my neighborhood. Dancing in the kitchen while cooking. Rearranging furniture when I get the whim. Lifting my carry-on into the overhead bin. Gardening, biking, hiking. And all the activities of my regimen - even the planks. I’m grateful for all of it.

My current body is a jigsaw puzzle with some pieces frayed and some pieces missing. I’m not shiny and new, but there’s still enough to work with. I’m lucky and I know it. So many are not.

I’ll take the knots and stiffness, the aches and pains, the accumulating limitations. I feel about my body the same way I feel about birthdays. How can you be upset at getting older considering the alternative? (Plus cake.)

So I’ll happily hobble on, diligently doing my morning inventory and sticking with Pilates and steps. Even as further indignities and losses show up, as I know they will, I am committed to giving my body the care and respect it deserves.

The path we’re all on goes only in one direction. Gotta keep it moving.

Some Current Distractions

• NY Times Games - My day always begins with Wordle and tea. I start with a different word every day and have only gotten it on the first guess once.

• This luscious pumpkin cake has been a Thanksgiving staple for years. It’s a one bowl dump cake that’s way more delicious than something so easy should be.

• Visited the Edges of Ailey exhibit at the Whitney Museum when I was in NYC a couple of weeks ago. If you’ll be in the city before it ends February 9, I highly recommend it.

• Somebody Somewhere on Max - Bridget Everett is the embodiment of a sweet broken bird trying to grow some wings in this quiet but also funny, poignant and lovable show.

• My Classic Cocktail Party Playlist is my go-to for happy hours at home. Classic crooner music is charming, playful and always in style. Cheers!