09/20/2026
This picture, from about 17 years ago, came up in my memories.
They weren't the best of times.
I was in excruciating physical pain. I couldn't sleep because both shoulders and my neck ached. Later, the pain moved on to include my lower back, then my hips and knees. Soon every joint throbbed, and I twisted all night trying to find a position that would let me sleep through the pain.
I felt old.
I was out of shape, and I could barely tolerate even a light workout without feeling completely drained. I had to take a break between flights of stairs to get to my lectures at Georgia State University.
Between lectures, I would desperately look for a chair in the library so I could crash when I felt a narcoleptic attack coming on. The attacks grew quickly from a few a month to several a week. Eventually, I walked around continually memorizing inconspicuous places where I could curl up if I suddenly felt that heavy weight of sleep falling down my forehead, forcing my eyes shut.
My thyroid failed. My blood pressure and cholesterol were steadily approaching borderline, and I was being tested for all sorts of symptoms.
I knew what I was doing wrong, but I didn't really want to believe it. Believing that it was things I was doing—and not doing—would have meant there were things I needed to change. Believing it would have meant I had to try, and possibly even fail.
Instead, I started to think that maybe the people who kept saying, "Just wait until you get to 30," were right.
That seemed like a better thought because then I could continue to eat, drink, and be merry with no focus or discipline concerning my health.
Eventually, after about five years of abusing myself, I got tired of it. I didn't recognize myself physically or mentally.
I decided to start small because starting big with the "best, most effective plan" sounded so painful and impossible. So, I just put on some shorts and sneakers, and I went on a walk.
I haven't stopped walking since.
The reason I cannot view aging quite the same way as most other people I encounter is that I remember how old I felt then—and I know how I feel now, nearing 50.
Sometimes I wonder: Had I continued believing that what I was experiencing was simply age, how would I be feeling now?
Every so often, I slip back a little.
A long trip makes it harder to maintain my eating habits or other healthy routines. Sometimes life stresses become too much to maintain the same focus.
At those times, it isn't a number on a scale or the size of my clothes that sends me back to doing what I know makes me happiest.
It's the feeling that comes after a little too much of everything.
It's feeling old.
And I learned about 15 years ago, that feeling old and getting older are not necessarily the same thing.