Letting go and holding on
At the age of 12, I jumped, for the first time, into water over my head at Scout Camp, dog-paddled across the pool and was declared a swimmer. I was ecstatic.
At the age of 21, on orders to return to headquarters in the south, I confiscated a jeep, drove all the way across Korea at the 38th parallel, forged papers to catch the train back to Taegu. I was safe.
At the age of 50 I ran a mile, then 5, then 10 and one day had the wild notion to run 26.2 When I did, I was overjoyed.
At the age of 58, I loosened my grip on the wing strut of a Cessna 186 and floated to the ground in Reno, Nevada. I was tranquil-ized.
At 83, I played a 9 hole golf course in my mind while the doctors repaired my heart. I was re-lived.
At 89, I sometime walk the treadmill at 2.5 mph for ten minutes, eleven if I'm up to it. I am grateful.
Now, my wife drives me to the Blood Bank to donate every eight weeks. Life is good.