I am strong. Not necessarily mentally, though I do feel fine in that respect. I am happy, content in my life, and though a sweet romance wouldn’t be deflected, the lack there of hasn’t been the downfall of my positive state of mind. Yet.

No, I refer to physical strength. At my age–my elderly age–of seventy one, crepey skin sags here and there. gravity has taken effect on my cheeks, jowls, neck, arms, the fat tire around by belly, those pesky extra ten pounds. It is all there, too. But underlying it all, I feel strong. I feel sharp, in tune with my ankles, knees, hips and shoulders. I have been playing tennis, about three or four times a week. Skiing once a week. Walking on the occasional off day.

I feel vigorous playing tennis. My mind gets clearer. I feel, at times, “in the zone.”

But basically I just feel strong. My legs are toughened. Japanese call legs like mine, daikon–radish. I have never had the slender, skinny legs like my white friends. And finally, in my elderly old age, I am losing muscle mass, which in my case means my legs, while not skinny, are not so “radish” like. I am still strong.

My core, albeit pudgy from old age, is strengthened from the rotation of the arms, shoulders, and steps from the legs when a good forehand or backhand is struck. Not to mention the constant dynamic ski turns that require the body top and bottom to rotate in opposition to each other, and the constant flexed legs that are required to ski for hours.

I have been able to strengthen myself the past few months from having regular workouts with people I have truly enjoyed. Tennis is a social sport, touted as one of the healthiest of sports for longevity. Like with skiing, I have held a fascination with tennis since childhood. We didn’t have well maintained courts as I was growing up, so like skiing, I didn’t really start playing tennis until after graduation from college. From the day I had the freedom of time and money, I spent my limited resources skiing and playing tennis. It has been central to who I am.

Part of me loves the sedentary life of a writer, the solitary feeling of driving miles and miles day after day. Sometimes I binge watch some nonsense on YouTube or Netflix, drinking a glass of wine and eating chocolates. The other part of me loves an accelerated heart rate when gliding down a mountain run, cold and fast. I am not a beautiful skier. I have always felt like I muscle my way through the hard parts, but love it I do. And the physicality of tennis is a continual inducement for me to keep trying to improve, compete, and play with joy.

I am particularly relishing this time in my life because I know it is fleeting. As we age, time goes by faster and faster. The years slip by, the weeks are a blur. What used to be a meal of meat and potatoes has morphed into salad greens and carrot sticks to maintain a body that has a pesky layer of fat.

So I know the importance of pausing, feeling the power of my physical body, replaced hip and all, and appreciate the time I have right now. Time to bundle in ski jackets and snow pants, haul gear up the mountains. Spend a sunny New Mexico day on the pristine white snow, green pines lining the runs. It won’t last forever. This I know. I see my tennis mates, wonderful men and women all, aging before my eyes. Slowly, my ski mates hang up their skis for “safer” sports. And the tennis players, too. They trade in their racquets for–please save me–pickleball paddles.

And while I am fit and sound today, at any moment it might be a rotator cuff tear, or a knee replacement, or more likely for me, another hip replacement.

So I rejoice in this sliver of time, this blink of an eye, when in this moment I feel younger than my years and strong; hopeful that it will get better before it gets worse.