I'm 71 years (young) now and I consider my health to be good. I'm still walking between 6 and 10 miles a day, camp hosting in the North Carolina Mountains, still do blacksmith demonstrations in Louisiana, still chop my own fire wood, climb on the roof of my camper and my house, crawl, kick, and scream. I'm more active now than I ever was in my working days. I've worked hard all my life and played hard also. I never drank alcohol, except an occasional wine on New Years, and our first camp-out for the year (our tradition). I smoked only about 2 week when I was 15 years old to tick my mother off and then realized how stupid it was and never picked one up again. I can out physically out perform the young bucks, have longer stamina than my son, and simply do not quit or give up doing anything I put my mind to. I stubborn person who refuses to cave-in to my body. I'm the master of my body. My body is not the master of me.
So, about 2 weeks ago, here I am at a state park in North Carolina mountains as a camp host. I shoveled sand slides and small rock slides across the road and camp sites and thought I had a pretty good handle on things .... then ....
I was coming down from one campsite and crossed the asphalt parking spot on the next one, going down hill. Now, I'd cleaned off that asphalt, but there was still a layer of compacted sand and silt across it. I didn't think a thing about it until I got into the middle of the spot and I felt like a cartoon character running in place going no where. My feet, literally sliding, and I'm running attempting to keep from falling, sliding down hill the entire time until gravity won! FLAT on my back, covered in mud and sand-silt. I think that's the first time in 20 years I've fallen.
Well, once I quit sliding down the road (just like something you'd see on a YouTube video of someone sliding on ice in the winter), I was able to regain control, and got back up. As hard as I hit the ground, I figure something had to be broken. But nope! Absolutely nothing hurt except my pride. I laid there in the mud, looked around to see if anyone saw me. I saw some people above the hill behind their tent, I laid low in the sand-mud-silt until the went out of site and then got my foot hold and got up.
I went back to the camper, stripped my cloths off outside (yea... I took a chance on being seen standing there in my underware), left those sandy-muddy-silt smelly pants and shirt outside and I dashed into the camper. I took a shower, got cleaned up (and the smell off of me), dressed in clean and dry clothes and then went outside, got a garden hose, and sprayed down my infected blue-jeans, shirt, shoes, and socks and got all that sand off of them.
Yep, it happened. I suppose I'm not invincible.
Old age affecting my mental state ... yes, most definitely. I am more determined than ever to keep going, even if it kills me!