You Look Good for 60!

One of my workout buddies, Kenny Wiggins mentioned recently that he really doesn't watch the clock during our workouts  but instead just looks for the "milestones."

Such as "half way through" or "5 minutes to go."   If he watches the clock, it's not as much fun. 

I had a pretty big milestone yesterday:  My 60th birthday.  I haven't been watching that clock:  60 has sort of sneaked up on me.  It really sneaked up on my wife--early this year she suggested maybe we should take a big vacation when I turned 60.  "Uh...honey...that's this year!"

Most people at 60 are starting to look at retirement.  Not me.  Not really.  I have no real plans for retirement.  I've always thought it sad that someone knew the days and minutes until they could finally retire.  I would not have wanted to work at a job that would make me feel that way. 

I'm not sure what I would do in retirement anyway--I enjoy what I'm doing now too much.  My life is complex but not complicated.  I do a lot of things.

I paint, I sing in a quartet, and I ride my bicycle. I dance, but only once in public.  I chase grandbabies.  I paddle a canoe, travel a lot, and raise blueberries, cherries, and blackberries.  I try to grow apples, pears, and peaches but I'm not real good at those.  Still, it doesn't stop me.  Actually, not being real good at something doesn't seem to deter me from trying new things.

I really enjoy sharing in this space with you and plan on writing until the good folks at The Daily Times discover I've truly lost my mind.  It used to be that I was "Joe Black, the physical therapist."  Anymore, I'm "Joe Black, the guy that writes in the newspaper."  That's OK.

I've said many times that I'll quit my job when it stops being fun.  Well, it's still pretty darn fun.  For me, there is nothing like the dynamic of a clinic, particularly one that is truly focused on helping folks and being proactive about health issues.   It is still a thrill to walk into the room of a patient that is there to seek my expertise and guidance.  

It's been a really great 60 years and I would do it again the same way in a heartbeat.  Sure, I've made mistakes (even some really big ones) but the path has led me to a point in life where I'm truly happy, to where I feel I'm the luckiest man in the world, so why would I even change the bad stuff?  I'm pretty sure I've learned from the mistakes I've made and the trials I've been through.

60 really is only a milestone in my life that has now passed.  The clock is ticking and if I don't want to lose sight of what is really important, if I don't want to miss out on living life, I won't be watching the clock.  I'll simply get on with life.

I've got a lot to do.

Bullying By Any Other Name

Maybe you followed the story of Bearden High School senior Alex Notte and his prom date with professional golfer Belen Mozo.   This beautiful, successful 24-year-old stepped away from her busy schedule to join Alex on this special night. 

That Alex had physical and communication challenges didn't stop him from asking for a date with Belen.  That she said yes I believe is a testimony to her heart and her character.

I'm going to call the rest of this my Jane Doe story.  Maybe you were never this person.  Maybe you were. 

I can remember how badly we treated Jane.   She wasn't one of the "cool kids" and, truth be known, was pretty obnoxious.   The kind of person that might get on your nerves quickly.

I can remember never wanting to be seen talking to her because my buddies might think that I "liked" her.  So I shunned her.  Ignored her if she tried to talk to me. 

Was she that bad?  Oh heavens no.

We had a "fat girl" in our class too.  Shunned as though she had a contagious disease, I can't imagine what life must have been like for her.   I do know that we became re-acquainted as adults and I found her to be engaging, smart, funny, and an all-around decent person.   I think she was still big but I'm not real sure because I didn't see her that way anymore.

Stuff like this still happens every day.   What were we thinking?   We weren't bad kids but obviously we could be cruel.

Bullying is not just  physical beatings or even pushing someone down on the playground.  Bullying takes many faces.  Cruelty like this is a form of bullying. 

When you make fun of what someone is wearing, that's a form of bullying.   Did you ever stop to think that maybe that's all they had?  Or that maybe their parents were unable to make the kind of choices that you think are fashionable?

Or the way someone looks?  That's bullying too.  The kid with size 14 shoes in the 5th grade and you just think that's the funniest thing you've seen in a long time?  That is the same kid that will be 6'6" and a basketball star in just a few short years.

Or the girl that had to have glasses too young and gets called "Four Eyes" everywhere she goes.   Whose nose doesn't seem to fit her face.   She's the one who grows into those things and is knock-dead gorgeous and believe me, you will wish you had been nicer to her when you were younger.

I honestly believe that is all about our own insecurity.   We don't know who we are and are despite desperately searching for that person but in the meantime we elevate our status (in our own minds) by treating others badly.

There's this one guy that I knew well in college that may have helped me understand how this is just basically wrong.  When a bunch of us guys were hanging out together, he would pick the one person in the room that he saw as the weakest or least and make fun of  him.  What we called "teasing," although it was something much darker than that.

I was sometimes that person being picked on.  It took me many years to forgive him.   What he did do was teach me a little about how to treat people.     And what I've discovered is that if you treat others with respect, if you make yourself blind to whatever faults they might have, you're going to find some really great people out there.  

People that you have a lot more in common with than you could ever have dreamed.   And that's a good place to be.

Tie your shoes!

This may be one of those columns that confirms my old fogey-ism but have you ever wondered why (mostly) teenagers never want to tie and untie their shoes?  Maybe you haven't  noticed but I sure have.  

I guess it starts with injuries because that's mostly when I see them.  

Without a shadow of a doubt, the most frequent sports injury is the ankle sprain.   The classic sprain is where the foot turns to the inside, injuring the outside of the ankle.  More commonly the result of jumping and then landing on someone else's foot, it can happen while alone while simply stepping off of a curb.

If you have injured your ankle, there are a couple of keys to deciding maybe what you've done.  First, let me teach you a couple of terms.  "Inversion" is when your foot turns to the inside.  Since the ankle sort of goes out, some people mistakenly describe what happened to them by saying that their ankle turned "out."   What's important here isn't what happens at the ankle but what happens to the foot.

"Eversion" is where the foot goes to the outside.

Now here's the important part of that.  If you have an eversion injury and it hurts on the inside of your ankle, you can probably ice it and watch it for a few hours to see what happens.

If you have an eversion injury and it hurts on the outside of your ankle, you very well may have broken your ankle and need to avoid weightbearing and get it evaluated, particularly if the pain is severe.

If you have an inversion injury and it hurts on the inside of your ankle, you can probably ice that one too and watch it for a few hours.  However, if an hour later you can describe the pain as severe, then you should have it seen about.

And if you have an inversion injury and it hurts on the outside of your ankle, you probably have a garden-variety ankle sprain and need to put ice on it, rest it, and elevate it.  If severe pain lasts for more than a few hours, get medical attention.

None of this is meant to be a substitute for medical attention to any injury.  But the fact of the matter is that most people will do one of three things when they hurt their ankle:  Do nothing, do the right thing (Rest Ice Compression Elevation), or do the wrong thing.  Maybe the first and last are the same.

In other words, most people self-treat ankle injuries anyway so I'm just trying to help you make smarter decisions and understand what is going on.

Now back to the shoelace thing.

Let me tell you first that laces on athletic shoes are there for a reason.  Do this:  Look at your running shoes.  See those stripes and bands on the side?   Those are there for a purpose.

When your shoelaces are snugged up, those stripes pull up on the shoe so that it cradles and protects the foot.   Bands that go from front to back are there primarily to assist in cupping and supporting the heel.  

You can prevent a lot of injuries by having well-fitted shoes with the laces up tight.  And that means also that you untie your shoes when you take them off and re-tie them when you put them back on.   Tucking your laces into your shoes, making them so you can simply slip them off and on without bothering with the laces defeats the purpose of the shoe.

You might as well wear houseshoes (or those flimsy, rubbery things that too many people wear that I will not name because I don't really like to be sued) around for all the good your shoes are to you.

So now parents, feel vindicated because what you've been preaching forever is now gospel.

It's not about me

It hasn't been that long since the MHS-Whitehaven football state championship game.  I remember vividly the tears shed by many of the Rebels...their dreams crushed.

Those were honest tears.  Any athlete will have that one thing-that one event that they dream of.  An Olympic Gold Medal.  A national championship. 

I've got a confession to make.  Yeah, I've made 'em here before.   Usually something embarrassing or at the very least personally cleansing.  I'm not sure what category this one falls under.

I'm a softie.  I cry easily. 

OK...now I've said it.  It isn't a very manly-man thing to say but it is honest.   And if I can't be honest here, then what's the point?  I find that as I get older that it is easier to be totally honest.

So when I watched those young men leave the field, I choked up a little.  Not for me.  Heaven knows I've had the blessing of so many of those same games on the winning side.  It was more because after spending months with these guys, their pain became my pain.

But I do get emotional easily.

Marley and Me?  Cried like a baby.   Don't even let me in the room if My Sister's Keeper is on.  Those Lifetime movies that my wife loves to watch?  If they aren't so obvious or the malady-of-the-day, I can easily find myself getting choked up.

So why admit all this now?   My latest grandchild was born 8 weeks ago.  Born prematurely, he is just now reaching his due date.  He was so tiny at birth, only 3 pounds, 2 1/2 ounces.  He spent a month in the NICU at Children's Hospital but I already wrote about that. 

This has been an eventful affair--certainly an emotional rollercoaster.  But he's here and he's fine (7 pounds and 2 ounces just this week) and now we can look forward to watching him become the man that he will be.

And along the way I want him to know that it is OK to feel emotion.  I want him to be able to feel deeply and to love unconditionally.  And that means to be honest with his emotions. 

I remember the time that my own dad cried in public.  Maybe it was the first time--it was certainly the first time that I ever saw him. 

It was at UT-Knoxville and I was getting an award that I was determined to blow off when a respected and kindly professor insisted that not only would I be there, but my parents would be too.

Keep in mind that my dad quit school after the 6th grade to go to work in a textile mill to support his fatherless family.   So here I am, not only about to graduate from college but getting some recognition for academic efforts.

So I get the award and hear the applause and I'm still pretty casual about the whole thing but then I turned to return to my seat and here was my dad, crying like a baby.  Sobbing really. 

And it was at that moment that it hit me that this had nothing to do with me but had everything to do with his dreams and aspirations for his only son.  You see, it's not always about me.