You're Too Old Not to Do What Scares You the Most...and Learn From Your Mistakes

You're Too Old to Spend the Rest of Your Life on the Couch: Let's Adventure!

Photo by Nathan Nichols on Unsplash

What happens when you do what scares you anyway?

Dear Reader: More than anything I am flat terrified of drowning. That’s why I am out on America’s Rivers. Here’s a recent lesson from doing just that.

The cold waters of the Lower Salmon hit me hard. Really hard. I’d been avoiding submerging my upper body, my core, for five days for good reason. The moment I did it, all the circulation in my hands and feet rushed to warm my core, my body screaming

EMERGENCY!

That’s what happens when you have Reynaud’s.

I knew the shock was coming, but I needed to know a couple of things if I was going to spend time on the world’s great rivers:

• Would I panic?

• Could I swim to safety?

• Would I be a danger to someone who might need to fish me out of the river?

• Would I keep my head if my body went south?

The answer to the first question is likely not. I’ve got a solid history of having gear fails, including two parachutes, and I’m reliably icy when things go to crap. Including in shark-filled waters with a bleeding ear when my scuba gear failed. That story is here:

That said, I am wicked-ass afraid of drowning. Churning cold water is another whole level of fear.

I did it anyway. It was not an epic adventure.

Those gear fail incidents were years ago. What about now, after twelve major surgeries, at 71 and with a body that isn’t quite back to the shape I trust most?

It had been nearly a decade since the last time I’d submerged myself in heavy rapids for fun. At that point I was in Jinja, Uganda, rafting the Class V headwaters of the Nile River. You know going in you’re going to swim, guaranteed, you’re prepared for it. The waters are nowhere near so cold.

Still.

Here’s a partial description of Class V:

Extremely long, obstructed, or very violent rapids which expose a paddler to added risk. Drops may contain large, unavoidable waves and holes or steep, congested chutes with complex, demanding routes. Rapids may continue for long distances between pools, demanding a high level of fitness. What eddies exist may be small, turbulent, or difficult to reach. At the high end of the scale, several of these factors may be combined.

This is what Class V looks like:

By Mark Reed - original photo, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1709717

This is seriously dangerous water. It’s like being tossed into a washing machine on heavy duty. If it’s also really cold, well, you do the math, right? I did it when I was 62 and in intensely good shape. And in a full-body wetsuit. Hold that thought.

Doing the Nile, dressed for the occasion

This was very different for a lot of reasons.

I am slowly getting my body back in shape. I am not there yet, for “there” has moved into the next county.

We were on the Lower Salmon, having stopped for a planned swim in the river’s cold-by-comparsion waters to the near-100-degree heat. Oregon River Experiences was the guide company. Kaelan, the lead guide, had invited us to hike up the river a bit to toss ourselves into the flow of comparatively easy rapids, maybe a Class II.

No problem, right? Still, as I followed Kaelan,the grandfather and the three grandkids to the put in spot, I felt dread.

What if what if what if…?

The mind is so often not our friend.

The moment I submerged I knew I was in for a rough ride. It’s impossible to fully respect the speed of a mighty river current until you’re in it, bobbing like a human cork, your flailings largely meaningless.

Suddenly I couldn’t get a deep breath as my body core struggled for warmth. I didn’t panic, per se, but my breathing got too rapid. I remembered- mostly- to get my air at the bottom of each wave.

As I entered the churning rapids, every so often I missed the opportunity and sucked cold water in through my nose. Doesn’t help.

My breathing was so shallow that I felt like I was only getting air to my throat.

Suddenly I was through the rapids and in the current, heading at speed down the river. Kaelan was a short ways further down, watching for trouble.

The above isn’t the planned swim but is a rapid on the Lower Salmon, just to give you an idea of what the river is like.

There was a big eddy, which is a swimmer’s friend, just off to my left, where everyone else waited for us. I made for it, my breathing too shallow and too rapid, my body fighting both for warmth and the oxygen it badly needed for the effort I was making to swim.

A born Floridian, I know how to swim. My personal flotation device or PFD kept me afloat. While it was riding slightly higher than was ideal, I did the side stroke towards shore. I felt clumsy and tired. It had only been seconds in the water.

What the hell is the matter with me? I thought, irritated. The ego so badly wants to be masterful, epic. When we’re not, the ego makes up excuses.

The sun was in my eyes, right?

I was winded. Told Kaelan, who was a short ways away and watching the swimmers. His attention, however, was behind me.

The grandfather was still in the middle of the current and heading downriver fast. Kaelan had no time to help us both out.

He saw me swimming, made the appropriate judgment and went after the grandfather.

As Kaelan disappeared down river to collect John, I side-stroked steadily, if not authoritatively, to the rocky shore.

I made it, a good bit further down than I’d planned. Adrenaline is only good for a while and then you’re drained. I made my slow way down the rocky shoreline back to our group.

Eric, our professor/naturalist, checked the fit of my PFD and found it wanting. He snugged it far more tightly, where it should have been.

Was that it?

Why was I so winded? Why was I so embarrassed?

Have I lost my fitness so badly?

Am I too old for this?

What the hell did I expect?

I found a rock, sat down and thought. First, I will give myself this: as fearful as I am of cold water and drowning, I did it anyway. I like being on the water, am falling in love with rafting. I had to know what being in the rapids was like in case a wave tossed my aging ass in the river.

Not fun but I didn’t panic. That said, I sure didn’t exactly swim the way I thought I should have.

Note the “should.”

The mind, in its desperate need to soothe the ego, makes up a thousand stories. Well it was my PFD. Well, I sucked in water through my nose. Well…

You know the drill. I had to sit for a while and let all that run its course. It took a while. Then I realized….up until this summer, I had never entered waters without a wetsuit.

Well, silly. Of course. See photo, above.

Dummy. Basic protection for someone with Reynaud’s.

Even in Uganda, where the waters are warmer, those of us with Reynaud’s have to protect our core body temperature. Cold water is a terrific shock. If we want to play in it, first order of business, protect your core.

Here we were in 98-degree temps, immersing ourselves in water some thirty to forty degrees cooler. Many people can handle that shock just fine. People with Reynaud’s can’t.

I had broken a cardinal safety rule for my own body. I’d forgotten to bring a wetsuit top.

While that was no guarantee that I’d have delivered some kind of silly epic performance to impress everyone on the trip, the point is that I was out of the habit. It had been years since I’d rafted and I had just forgotten. Such oversights can cost us.

O.R.E had four guides on that trip who could easily have hit the water and dragged me out, had things gone south. The planned swim was located where all the guides could see the swimmers. If another guide was needed in the water, they were seconds away.

Not every operator plans that level of safety, which is one reason I trust O.R.E. I had faith that I would eventually make it to shore, even if that meant a long walk back. I also had faith that if I signaled I was in distress, I’d be fine.

I was scared, did it anyway. It didn’t go quite as planned, but at least a guide didn’t have to drag me bodily out of the water like a wet mutt.

I dragged myself out of the water like a wet mutt, happily far enough downstream where few paid note. A reminder that nobody really cares, truly, unless of course you’re really in trouble.

If you’re really in distress, you’re entertaining as hell, like bombing horribly on America’s Got Talent just before Simon Cowell rips you a new one.

Everyone was more concerned about John, who, with Kaelan closing fast, had disappeared around the river bend well downstream.

All was well there, too.

This morning I’m shopping for wetsuit tops. I’d sold mine a few years back, having outgrown them, and never bothered to replace them. A fine reminder that I owned them for good reason. They’re hot, bulky, uncomfortable, and for someone like me, will make all the difference if I land in the churn.

It was worth it to face my fear and do it anyway. I’m not Too Old for this. But I do have to gear up for the conditions. That’s an easy fix and a click on the NRS site away. One wetsuit, on its way.

By U.S. Bureau of Land Management, Oregon - http://www.oregonencyclopedia.org/entry/view/owyhee_river/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=20461717

That will likely make a huge difference for future rafting trips, especially on the unpredictable Owyhee, above, which is only in raftable in spring and it can snow. You better be ready for anything.

Here’s my challenge to Dear Reader: are we using the Too Old trope when we we just need better or different gear? So often we make a simple mistake-like I did- and all it boils down to is that we forgot a critical piece of equipment.

Or maybe we are expecting our bodies to perform like twenty-year-olds when we’re 75, and we need to plan for a bit more time.

Are we using the Too Old trope when really, we just need to walk instead of run, hike more slowly and carefully instead of hurtle downhill?

Let’s challenge our assumptions. Get the right answers. This from

Bruce Murray

today:

I'm 81 and still going. Now, instead of jogging, it's walking, Now, I carry a camera and get photos. I volunteer in a botanical garden. I sing in a choir.

I'm continuing to live my life. My older sister is the same way.

Just Do It Now. Take a chance. Chance failing, looking foolish and find out what you need to know to keep on doing it anyway.

Don’t let aging tropes trip you up and keep you out of living your best life.

You and I are NOT Too Old for this.

Let’s play!

The author with the Lower Salmon in the background

Thanks as always for taking the time to hang out with me on the river today. If this article inspired you, please consider

If you know someone who could use some inspiration, please also consider