The Road to Diamond, Day 51: “Everything’s Gonna Hurt”

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January 18, 2025- So said a veteran athletic coach to a pre-teen with whom he had worked a few years back, and had not seen in a while. This was in reference to the boy saying he was almost twelve, which sparked Coach’s musings on the joys of adolescence. Everything does hurt, physically, mentally and emotionally, as the body goes from childhood towards adulthood. It is one reason why, after taking Developmental Psychology, I let go of any residual anger I might have felt towards those who bullied me in junior high school. They, for the most part, grew up to lead lives of industry and decency. Those who did not were pretty much nasty to everyone. They also died young.

I have had few aches and pains in my life. There was a bad back, after lifting my semi-conscious wife in 1991, in a situation that is too delicate and personal to share on this blog. (It was, long story short, due to an allergic reaction to medication.) The rest is negligible, especially compared to the constant woes suffered by so many of my peers. A lot does hurt, as one gets deeper into seniorhood. I give credit to Life Long Vitality supplements, Zinzino oil, healthy diet and regular exercise. Sobriety also has a great deal to do with it.

After a brief bout with some sort of crud, I woke up healthy enough, and non-contagious, so today was a full one: Farmers’ Market, Zeke’s and a Baha’i spiritual feast. I took in a concert by another of Prescott’s best, a cover band called Scandalous Hands. That was where Coach was advising his young protege’. A while later, a man two years my senior was advising a couple of other men close to us in age about thriving in one’s seventies. He himself looked like a picture of health.

It could happen, one day, that everything will hurt. For now, all I am doing for myself and for others is enough to keep the pain at bay.

First Camp, Day Five: An Unexpected Allergen

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June 6, 2023, Bellemont- On this forty-first anniversary of Penny’s and my marriage, I could feel her spirit, as ever, with many expressions of appreciation for my efforts, coming from the campers. Of course, I won’t ever be as popular as the chef, and she reminds me of that at every turn-but it’s with a twinkle in her eye. I will slowly get over the deeply ingrained doubts over my place in the world-with a few loud exceptions, most everyone these days is my well-wisher. It is only the latter who are here at camp. I don’t miss the others.

A young man found himself in the throes of an unexpected allergic reaction to something that had never bothered him previously: Eggs. He was surrounded by caring adults and peers,and between the sous chef and me, a good supply of antihistamine was soon on site and the suffering teenager was back in the spirit of things by late afternoon. For good measure, he will be kept away from any egg dishes for the rest of camp-and a package of antihistamine will accompany him, in the hands of his lead tutor, tomorrow as they head back home.

Many times, we lack the self-knowledge that would protect us from mental allergies. Those things about others, that remind us of perhaps vulnerable things about ourselves, are ever the trigger. It matters none, though; we each get the same challenge time and again, albeit in different guises-until acceptance of a flaw, and conscious effort to transcend it, become the order of the day.

So it goes, as I learn as much about myself from the campers, as we wind down our time together.