How to Conquer Aging

Aging is, without a doubt, one of the most interesting and frightening things I’ve ever experienced. This April, if the dice are hot and the good Lord sees fit, I turn 71. According to most literature, I’m timeworn. Ask a 20-year-old, and I’m almost dead. Ask my 97-year-old friend George Stanley, I’m just getting going. 

My assessment: I’m not old, but I’m certainly at its foothills, puffing my way up. 

Climbing the numbers ladder attacks a person on two fronts: mind and body.

Let’s start with the body. Waking, I used to pop up like a warm piece of toast.  Now, I wake with feet that feel like they have been hanging out of a car window during winter in Siberia.  Getting out of bed, I stand tall one vertebra at a time for fear that if I go vertical too quickly, I’m in danger of fainting or falling out an open window. With at least one eye open, I stumble around trying to find my slippers. Most old people have backless ones they can walk right into.  

At around 50, I made two life-changing decisions. The first was no more drinking two hours before bed. The second was to start eating soup. One day out of nowhere, I was gripped with an urge for soup. The desire for soup in an old person is only equaled to the urge a 20-year-old has for sex. Now, before heading to a restaurant, I phone first and ask about the soup of the day. To hear my phone call, you would think I was probing about a sick person. “So, how’s the soup today?”  Every morning my local bagel joint has gallons of fresh soup. If you are not there by 10 a.m., the neighborhood elderly have already convened and drained the consommé. 

Another reminder of aging is the bathroom mirror. Fifteen years ago, I noticed that I looked tired in both morning and evening. I have a short window between 10:06 and 10:59 a.m. where whatever youth I still have left rears its disappearing head.

I also noticed that overnight I seemed to be dehydrating at a very rapid pace. I blame it on climate change.

My bathroom has a full-length mirror, and not long ago I caught a glimpse of my backside. Oy vey. For a second I thought a Pug had walked in. Ever since that day, I’ve taken to covering the lower half of the mirror as if there was a death and I was in mourning. We need not talk about my front.  

Dressed in my red-and-white-striped polyester Target tracksuit, my friend Eric recently took me to work out at Orangetheory. When I caught one of the young people observing me, they flipped their workout into high gear, fearing this could one day happen to them.  

And now the mind. Recently I noticed grabbing the right word while explaining something is getting harder and harder. 

The constant misplacing of things is also discouraging. Like when I was babysitting my grandchild. I know she was in the house somewhere. 

Recently talking with my wife on my cell phone, I said, “I think I lost my phone. 

“Where do you think you left it?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“Did you check the car?” 

“Please call me on it?” 

Phone ringing. “I think I hear it.”  I then put the phone down and started looking for it. The race is on for who gets put away first.   

Here are a few tips to ensure old age doesn’t sneak up and hit you like a brick wall. 

First, you need to get out of shape as young as possible.  

So never exercise. And if possible, stop walking completely. Even if it’s just one block, Uber there. 

If you like TV, watch only the food channel. Especially if you’re hungry. Then try and make as many recipes (soups especially) as you can and don’t share any of them.  

Finally, only hang out with people doing the same thing you’re doing. Hanging out with non-slouches and health nuts defeats the purpose.  

If you follow my advice, and by luck you do make it to old age, you’ll be used to it long before it hits, and it won’t come as such a shock to the system.

Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer, and host of the ‘You Don’t Know Schiff’ podcast. His new book is “Why Not? Lessons on Comedy, Courage and Chutzpah.”