“I can do 10 pull ups, easy” was the claim of a good friend of mine a couple of years ago.   Now this man is a few years older than me and his fitness level, like many of us, wasn’t what it once was.   However, his memory of his former fit self was what he was operating on, not his current reality.   I bet him he couldn’t do one, let alone 10.   I wasn’t being a jerk I just knew that I couldn’t do a pull up and I was lighter and more active than he was, so I was pretty certain a pull up – or ten weren’t in his future.  It was on.  The stakes were laid – loser bought dinner.   

A week later his wife sent me a video.   This was it; he was about to prove me wrong.  He turned away from camera as he reached up to grasp the pull up bar.   His hands wound tight around the steel.  He braced himself.  Then he hung there for what seemed to be minutes, building the tension and anticipation.  Finally, he dropped down, turned to camera and admitted he couldn’t do it.  The memory of his old fit self-collided head on with his less fit reality.   

It’s funny how we can hold an inaccurate image of ourselves.  I often believe I can perform at a level better than I’m capable.  Now some of these ideas are based on how I performed in my younger years while others are outright delusions.   For instance, many years ago, my sons were into skateboarding.  One summer we traveled for miles to a different skateboard park every weekend.   Finally, I got tired of schlepping them here and there and decided to build them their own half pipe.   After many trips to Home Depot, multiple charges to my credit card, and a few days of hard labour the ramp was ready.   But when it came down to riding it neither boy wanted to give it a shot.  They were nervous because this ramp was untested.  It was a little steep and a lot unknown.  I was incensed.  “I put all this work and money into this thing and you boys won’t ride it!”   “Fine” I said, “I’ll show you how it’s done”.   Now I had no business riding a skateboard on a flat surface let alone down a half pipe.  I didn’t grow up skateboarding.  I could identify Tony Hawk in a police line-up if I had to but that was the extent of my skateboarding experience.   So, this idea wasn’t based on my former self but on pure delusion.  

I stood at the top of the ramp with the board at my feet hanging out over the abyss just like I’d seen on the X-Games.  The wind blew through my hair.  No helmet for this guy – it all happened so fast I didn’t even think of it.   I leaned forward, slapped my front foot on the board and let gravity take over.   A split second into the ride I noticed something in front of me.  There were my feet.   I was pretty sure they were supposed to be below my body not drifting up above my head.  Instantly I knew that this inaugural ride wasn’t going to end well.  

When the bottom of the ramp contacted my ass, the collision jarred every internal organ in my body including my brain which rattled like a pebble inside a pop can.  The boys stood frozen, not knowing whether they should flee in fear or laugh.  (They didn’t laugh but have been doing so ever since).  Once I was able to breathe again, I picked myself up off the ramp, muttered something about being careful on that thing and limped into the house to assess the damage.  

Of course, my wife happened to open the door just as all this was unfolding. As reliable as the law of gravity, this is called the law of appearing wives.  It states that a wife shall appear at the exact moment a husband is doing something reckless and stupid so she can witness it and forever hold it over the husband’s head.   Once she saw that an ambulance wasn’t required, she went back in the house to prepare her “what were you thinking” and “you could have been killed” speech which she hit me with as I lay in agony on the couch.  Then she moved in for the kill with, “you’re too old for that kind of stunt”.   Ouch.  That hurt worse than the multi-coloured bruise that had formed from between my knees and my shoulders on my backside.  Too old…really? 

Fast forward a couple of years later when I was in Los Angeles on business.   The business part of the trip had ended, and I had a day free before my flight home.  I drove to Venice Beach and went for a walk on the boardwalk.   Along the way I came across a fantastic skate park where I could see a handful of kids blasting up over the lip of a bowl (it’s like a cement swimming pool without water).   Now that’s the “California life” for you, I thought, skipping school and hanging at the beach to ride the skate bowl.   I stopped to watch and realized these weren’t kids, they were grown men, men my age and older.   They were guys who clearly had a history of skateboarding, and still had the desire to ride.   They weren’t letting age stop them from doing what they loved.   (For the record they all wore helmets.)  They may not have been riding the way they did when they were twenty, but they were still riding the bowl.  It was a glorious sight.  

I tell these stories to remind myself that there’s plenty I can do and some things I shouldn’t do.  For example, I could take up bull riding, but I know I probably shouldn’t.  If I do want to try something new, say skateboarding, I’d do it in a smarter way.   I certainly wouldn’t start on a half-pipe.  I’d begin by evaluating my current situation and make sure I’m not being foolish about this undertaking.  Next, I do a little research to figure out a good (safe) entry point to this venture.  Then I take it step by step.   What I won’t do is let age or fear stop me from trying something new or from doing something I love.   This is exactly how I’ve worked the fitness program I’m on now.  I didn’t start by doing an Ironman Triathlon.   I started by walking the dog.  Slowly I’ve progressed to the point where I’m running up to two hours at a time.   I never once said I’m too old for this or I’m scared that I might fail.  I just did it a step at a time.   

Make no mistake, there are still times when I falsely believe I can perform at a higher level than I am able to.  I imagine I can drive a golf ball just like Phil Mickelson.  That’s before I take that first swing and shank it into the woods.   Part of this is visualization, which is good, and part is desperation to succeed.  The point is I’d rather be out there trying and failing than resigning myself to the couch because I’m afraid I’d fail or worse think that I’m too old to try.  As long as my delusions don’t put me in harm’s way, I’ll be okay.  They help keep me going and enjoying life.  My infamous ride down the half pipe taught me a valuable lesson I won’t soon forget, but should my memory fail me, don’t worry, my wife will gladly remind me.