This week, First Person shares the stories of some seriously awesome seniors.
Illustration by Drew Shannon
Too often, people in my demographic bemoan an approaching birthday as further evidence that we are over the hill. I know I am an annoyingly cheerful optimist, but really? Isn’t each additional year something to celebrate, proof we are still here, still witness to the fascinating drama of existence?
I have long passed the 70-year milestone, which many people view as the tipping point into frail old age. Too often, the news commentator assumes a soft, patronizing tone to describe an elderly person who has had some mishap. Then the report reveals that the person is 72. What!? I think 72 isn’t elderly. Well, it better not be, since I am now 78!
Last year, I began a project called Embracing 80. I promised to sample 80 new activities outside my comfort zone before reaching that venerable age. I had a few items in mind, but I did not have a prescribed list. I left my options open to physical, intellectual or psychological challenges. I figured opportunities would arise and my goal, publicly announced on Facebook, would motivate me to embrace them.
Steering a stand-up paddleboard was an early undertaking. My son-in-law, Sean, offered a lesson on a sheltered lake near Victoria. How hard can it be, I thought. It’s just a flat plank sitting on calm water. I was so confident, I ignored his instructions. I climbed aboard and started to paddle. Whoa! It felt so tippy, I tensed every muscle to keep balanced, including core muscles I didn’t know I had.
Overconfidence subdued, I followed Sean across Thetis Lake to a secluded nook aglow with water lilies. It was smooth sailing while I kept my eyes riveted to the tip of the board. At our destination, I glanced at the glorious lilies. In a heartbeat, I found myself deep underwater. When Sean turned to speak to me, he saw the board and the paddle but no Nanna. In the watery depths, he spied a turquoise circle slowly rising – my sunhat. Under it, I was giggling as hard as I could without access to oxygen. Luckily, Thetis Lake is warm in June. I clambered aboard with no damage done, except to my dignity. I learned not to prejudge the ease of a new activity.
My family cheered me on through many experiences: scrambling through the caves at Horne Lake Provincial Park, sitting inside a triceratops skull, learning several methods of firing glass, riding a dogsled through northern tundra, etc. I was having fun.
When the pandemic closed attractions I was planning to try, my 12-year-old grandson stepped up to keep the Embracing 80 momentum alive. He offered to use his guest pass to lead me through the treetop adventure courses at a park in a nearby forest. It had never been on my list of potential activities.
“It’s really easy, Nanna, and I’ll help you!”
What could I say with that eager, freckled face smiling at me. “Uhhh… I’m scared of zip lines. But, okay, I’ll try the easiest level.”
I completed the beginner circuit with flying colours. On to intermediate, where the challenges moved higher in the trees. My grandson demonstrated each step while I expended every ounce of strength to traverse the rope bridges between platforms. Turns out the zip lines were the easiest part of the course. My daughter recorded every move on video.
I reached the end of intermediate level, out of breath, but still – it counted. The employee supervising our safety confided that his mother, 20 years younger than me, had needed a rescue halfway through intermediate. My Embracing 80 project impressed him. “This is number 30,” I boasted.
Fuelled with overconfidence, I climbed behind my grandson to the highest scaffold. The swinging and balancing acts between platforms became more demanding. Midway through the difficult course, my legs started wobbling. I had no strength left.
“I don’t like this!” I cried.
“Do you want to be rescued?” the supervisor shouted from 40 feet below.
My grandson was calling encouragement from the landing ahead.
“No, I’ll tough it out!” I didn’t want to fail in full view of a 12-year-old.
A few rubbery steps further, my arms gave out and I collapsed miserably on the thin bar beneath my feet.
“I want to be rescued.”
The young man scooted up the ladder, across the cable and buckled me into a harness. “Consider this number 31,” he chuckled as he lowered me to the ground. With his blessing, I experienced the rescue itself as another adventure.
In retrospect, I realize I did not fail that day at WildPlay. I pushed myself to my limit, which was a feat to celebrate. The comments on Facebook proved I challenged expectations for my age group: “OMG, you’re going to kill yourself!” and “The video was too scary to watch.” In fact, it was totally safe. Each participant is tethered to a cable above. You may lose your footing, but you will never fall.
I was wondering what to do for number 40 when I got a telephone invitation from WildPlay: a free bungee jump 150 feet into the Nanaimo River canyon. My astonished mind raced. Absolutely not! Only crazy people launch themselves into an abyss upside down. On the other hand… it’s free.
After some discussion, I agreed to the Primal Swing – a bungee jump where you and a partner sit upright, harnessed together. My daughter, equally afraid of heights, agreed to share the ride.
On their website, the free-fall looked terrifying with speeds of 140 kilometres an hour. I lost a night’s sleep to nightmares. My rational brain reframed a more positive outlook, so that on the drive to Nanaimo I was breathing normally. The admissions desk expected me – an old lady doing 80 new things.
I trudged up the stairs to the narrow footbridge. Squeezing past the shirtless, tattooed young men waiting to bungee jump, I felt really old. That thought immediately morphed to: What am I doing here? Am I out of my mind? My daughter and I huddled together.
Two cheerful employees spread harnesses for us to step into. My body went into high alert, muscles tense, heart drumming. Then they said, “Wriggle forward and let your legs dangle over the edge.” I stopped breathing. The video showed my mouth open in a silent scream, but it was too late.
We were in free-fall, rushing through the air. My brain was too numb to feel fear. In the next instant, our rope fully extended and we began a graceful pendulum swing deep within the canyon walls. I breathed again; in fact, I laughed. My daughter and I congratulated ourselves. Easy-peasy! Lots of fun!
Now I know there is nothing truly dangerous about the Primal Swing – no opportunity to strain, stretch or wrench any body parts. My friends still applaud my courage, swearing they could never do that. Really, it didn’t require courage; it required embracing new assumptions on appropriate activities for my age.
I think I’ll go again and share the ride with my grandson.
Anne Dalziel Patton lives in Victoria.
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