Don’t let the old man in!
- Schalk Mouton
As we get older, although our spirit stays stuck in the mind of a teenager, how do we trust our bodies to do the things that keep us young?
We had just finished paddling at Emmarentia Dam one winter’s morning and were all showered and dressed. My friend was staring at himself in the misted-up mirror.
“Don’t let the old man in!” he shouted at his reflection. Twice. He slapped himself hard in the face, leaving behind a red mark and a smear of Old Spice. Psyched-up, like the minor provincial rugby player he used to be, he squared his shoulders, inhaled deeply and wrapped himself in his hand-knitted cardigan and mohair scarf.
On his way out, he called over his shoulder: “Anybody coming for tea?” and disappeared into the mist.
It’s a Clint Eastwood line, “Don’t let the old man in!” Direct. Blunt. A command with no apology. Dirty Harry didn’t give a damn about being polite or politically correct. Grow up! Toughen up!
Come on, Punk. Make my day!
Trusting the teenager
I am not sure whether it’s some weird evolutionary phenomenon or the fact that I grew up in Springs – breathing in a concoction of sulphur and other foul-smelling chemicals that drifted over the town on cold mornings – that stunted the part of my brain that is supposed to tell me that I am a greying 52-year-old middle aged man. I am no longer that immortal 16-year-old that could fall off his bicycle, brush himself off and go straight for the next ramp.
It took a spectacular fall last year to make me realise that if, at my age, you plant your ribs in the wide expanse of Delta Park, the chances are that a couple of million years from now, some µÚÒ»³Ô¹ÏÍø Palaeosciences postdoc is likely to dig me up as their next specimen of the primitive, unintelligent life forms that existed back then.
It was a beautiful Friday morning, riding with a mountain bike skills group that my wife and I recently joined – for different reasons. She, responsible and intelligent as she is, joined to learn to ride more safely. I, on the other hand, joined because I am not as chronologically well-adjusted and the crazy 16-year-old daredevil inside me, with no fear or concept of consequence, is always going to push to take the next turn tighter, go downhill faster or jump higher. Without the necessary skills, I won’t survive. It’s that simple.
So, towards the end of our ride, the group was standing atop the Delta Park bike jumps. The rest of our group, cognisant of their actual chronological ages, decided to take the sloping downhill switchbacks that would bring them back down to the carpark – and the post-ride coffee. I, on the other hand, lined up with two much more technical riders, ready to tackle the jumps.
“Don’t do it!” my 52-year-old head said.
“Wimp!” tormented my inner 16-year-old.
I did it.
Ramp one: Okay, I am not going to ramp this, just roll.
Ramp two: I’m going too fast – I don’t want to jump. Just roll. I brake.
Ramp three: Too much speed. I brake but realise I am braking at dangerous points on the ramp.
Ramp four: It’s freakin’ steep … and I am still too fast!
Delusions of youth
We have all experienced that moment when you are in imminent danger but nothing you can do is going to change the outcome. Time literally slows down and you know that you are in for a world of pain! It’s not a cliché. We’ve all felt it – when you’re out of control on a bike or lose your footing on a hike and are about to fall, or you were stupid enough as a teenager to allow your brothers to tow you on an inflatable tube behind a powerful speedboat, as they tried their best to throw you off.
There is that split second when you are in the air and must come down and there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. And it’s going to hurt … a lot!
That moment’s realisation is liberating. It’s probably the only time in our lives that we can see into the future and make absolute peace with what’s going to happen as we travel through time and space.
On ramp four, I didn’t have that moment. I remember pedalling up it and the next thing, I was flat on my back, slowly coming round from a blackout and staring up at a group of dudes in helmets and sunglasses who were bending over me. One of them prodded me carefully with his foot. Another whispered in his ear, “Do you think he’s alive?”
A crash like that and the subsequent hospital visit makes you want to spit in the face of that 16-year-old. Dirty Harry would have.
My other cycling group rides the spruit at a sedate, easy pace every Sunday, followed by a leisurely coffee before we go home to enjoy the rest of the day. I am known in this group as something of a “cowboy” or a “show-off”, which hurts my sensitive soul.
The reason for my unfairly earned reputation is that I always want to try something new. If there’s a choice of obstacles, I always tackle the harder one. If I can cross a difficult bridge or go around it– the bridge always wins. If I fail, I do it again.
This is my version of shouting at myself in the mirror.
Preferring priorities
I don’t set out to hurt myself and I definitely don’t have a death wish but I do believe that the real danger lies in when you allow the old man to creep in, not when you reach a certain age, but when you choose not to do something.
Two years ago, just into our fifties, my wife and I went out and bought new bicycles – something my parents would never have dreamed of doing at that age. I also play bass in a rock band comprised of 50-year-olds and I learned a new instrument during Covid. I learnt to fly an aeroplane when I was 50 and I keep learning new aviation related skills.
I love my life at the moment and want to keep going for as long as I can but it’s difficult if you can no longer trust your body to keep up.
But that old person creeps in when we stop doing, stop learning, stop being curious, and, sometimes, stop being silly.
Recent research has shown that longevity – in body and mind – has a direct correlation with three things: exercise, diet and social interaction. Leave one of these out, and you start to open the door to the old man.
In our very rushed lives, it’s easy to say that we don’t have time for things like learning a new language, spending time with family or friends, or going for a walk with our dogs.
I recently read a book by a former member of the US Navy Blue Angels aerobatic display team and what struck me was the way in which he chose to re-organise his life.
He stopped saying he didn’t “have time” to do something but rather started saying “it wasn’t a priority”. That completely changed the way he thought and how he “prioritised” his time.
Switching “I didn’t have time to spend time with my wife today”, to “it wasn’t a priority for me to spend time with my wife today” changes the way you view things. Whether it’s choosing to exercise, or not, doing your job, calling your mother, or just spending time with friends, the choices you make, every day, I believe, let that old man sneak in the door – or keep him out.
Come on, Punk. Make my day!
- Schalk Mouton is Senior Communications Officer at µÚÒ»³Ô¹ÏÍø University.
- This article first appeared in CURIOS.TY, a research magazine produced by  and the .
- Read more in the 21st issue, themed #Trust — the invisible glue binding society, science and technology.