I came to that conclusion last April on my birthday as I walked along a sunny beach in Florida. My birthday usually finds me in a pensive, reflective and contemplative mood, so it was natural for me to begin thinking about the fact that at the age of 56, I was slowly, but surely, heading towards what many call old age.
But exactly how would I know when I had reached this golden milestone in life?
If I am truly as old as I feel, I thought, then on this particular day I felt 56 years old. My muscles were increasingly stiff in the morning and my joints ached at night. My back was causing me considerable problems, and spicy foods were no longer agreeing with me. I awoke several times in the night, and tired easily by late afternoon, while frequently finding that I had little stamina for evening activities.
And just like my father in his mid 50s, I was noticing that ever-so-familiar male abdominal bulge, despite exercising and watching what I ate. In short, I felt 56 years old.
Yet, despite feeling 56 physically, my brain kept telling me I was only 35, and this was causing problems for me.
For example, thinking I was 35, I thought nothing about challenging a high school friend of my daughter's, who was on the track team, to a 100-yard dash. Despite warnings from my daughter, since I had run this event in high school, I believed I could at least hold my own and maybe even impress her. Embarrassment was more the result!
At about 80 yards into the race and with my opponent yards ahead of me, I tore my left hamstring muscles and spent weeks in rest and rehabilitation.
Another time, knowing I was in shape and thinking I was invincible, I thought nothing about running five miles on Saturday and three miles early Sunday morning followed by a competitive game of racquetball with a friend on Sunday afternoon. Into the third game, my fatigued muscles took over, causing me to fall and tear my Achilles tendon. This resulted in surgery and six months of cast, crutches and rehabilitation.
There is more. Despite increasing back pain while jogging, I just could not accept the fact that my running days were coming to an end, until one day after a particularly long run, I could not get out of bed for three days. I was thinking 35, but I was feeling 56.
And so, on that birthday walk last year, I made a resolution. I would try very hard to let me body tell my brain what it can do rather than the other way around.
This past year, I did what I tell so many of my patients to do. I listened to my body. Instead of jogging, I took up walking. Instead of racquetball, I began playing tennis because I found it easier on my stamina and joints. And instead of a winter trip for skiing in Aspen, it was off to the beach. I gave up attempts at eating spicy foods and began going to bed earlier at night, while adding a 15-minute nap to my afternoon regimen.
The past year had come and gone, and as I found myself walking down that same stretch of beach recently on my 57th birthday, I realized that this strategy had indeed worked. While I still thought younger than I felt, I felt much better thinking smart.