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Jogging at age 65-plus

After a half decade of Big Years, from age 60, I’m now in a different mode, less frenetic, less obsessed. It’s a “slow glow.” One of the many aspects of life that I’ve chosen to zero in on is my jogging. After all, I’ve now been running (slowly, oh so slowly) for half a century! And running gives maximum cardiac exercise per minute, is great for bone density…

Nine-month reckoning

Afternoon. A tram trundles past my hunkered-down world. I’m home alone for the next ten days and can expect to both work really well and feel exposed. It occurs to me that it’s seven months since I turned 65 and shifted from a “Big Decade,” day-by-day challenge mode of living, to a deeper “slow glow” five-year perspective. The trouble is, glowing slowly can…

Hundred days

A few days ago we realized that the summer of 2020/21 was the first in a long time, and possibly the first of our four decades of marriage, that we’d spent every night under one roof. We’d normally travel somewhere, or hike with tent, or bunk down in a summer house. Melbourne summers encourage beachside sojourns. Today I counted the days since we returned from our only 2020 hike, one…

Projects

Some days, I wake thinking I should really retire, as nearly all my friends and colleagues have done. Part of me knows I’d be hapless in retirement, adrift, insomniac, and ruing my lot in life. But equally dissatisfying is working on a never-ending project at the same time as other projects jostle for room just outside the brain’s door. One such is the 15 Cranes project (see my blog…

Dreaming of peaks

It wasn’t so long ago that a Big Year of Tough Hikes seemed likely for one of the years between age 65 and age 70. Certainly, that’s what my 60-year-old self had envisaged. But now at age 65, the notion, once attractive, of tackling the Tour du Mont Blanc, traversing Sicily’s central spine, and mastering the Western Arthurs in Tasmania, all in the one year, has vanished. I know…

2021’s first month

This selfie was meant to connote steely determination on New Year’s Day, although now it’s clear I resembled a hooligan. Never mind, I need to get back to talking to myself about core aspects of life in the second year of the 20s. Firstly, let me exhibit a little self pride by saying I worked as hard as I could on real writing over January. I had a go. Did I achieve 7-8 hours of work…

Lost

A warm Melbourne Friday afternoon, real heat arriving Sunday. I have, I confess, lost all traction. It’ll be fleeting, I tell myself. I switch from attempting real drafting work, to research catch-up and tidy-up work, the work you do when you stall.

Tik tok tok tok

At the start of this new year, the role of exercise in my life remains strong, if only because a period of lockdown lethargy and overeating reinforced how much I enjoy feeling reasonably fit. This concern doesn’t seem to be mirrored by many of my contemporaries, who seem keen to deteriorate far too fast, but my aberrant desire to be active and alert remains strong. Call my five-year journey…

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