“I’m too old to surf now. It happens to all of us.”
Those are the words one of my mom’s doctors – a kind man in his late thirties who tried to soften the blow for her this week as we talked about her slowing down at the age of 90.
He’s right. Over time, most of us become observers instead of participants, at least when it comes to physical activities that we love.
One day, the mountain seems steeper to the backpacker. The golfer who once reached the green in two shots now needs three. The gardener shortens an afternoon among the flowers to an hour. The grandparent who once chased children across the yard now cheers from a lawn chair. And so it goes.
Then we find ourselves negotiating between our will and our body. “I’ve always been able to do this. I’m not going to let a little pain stop me now. Ouch! Okay, if I back off a little and take my time, I can still get the job done. Ouch! Are you serious? That hurts too!” Eventually, the negotiation stops and realization sets in. We become observers.
This is what’s happened to me with tennis. My shoulder and back pain have driven me from the game. Now I settle for watching it, but that comes with its own challenges. Years ago, a buddy of mine had a son who played tennis tournaments around town. I went to see him play and it awakened a new ache in my heart for the sport. Even so, something felt off.
He’d hit a winner and say, “Let’s go!” to himself, and then he’d pump his fist. That was different than my tournament playing days. We used to say, “Come on” to self-motivate. I think that started with former world number one, Lleyton Hewitt, and we all followed suit. I have no idea where “Let’s go!” started, but someone uttered it and it became a thing for younger people – not just among tennis players. I even hear hikers say it now sometimes.
It’s one of those little nuances that makes the game feel more distant to me now. There are other small changes (serve clocks, string and racket technology, coaching, etc.), but I don’t want to bore non-tennis fans with them because this is bigger than tennis.
Accepting subtle changes is part of growing older. New players step onto the court, so to speak, and new phrases echo across the net. Our passions are still beautiful. They just aren’t quite the same. And the world keeps moving, with or without us. We can’t go back.
But every now and then when I hear someone yell, “Let’s go!” I find myself whispering, “Come on.” It’s my quiet way of holding on to what I know while watching from afar.
