I recently travelled with a 23-kilo suitcase from Europe to rural Canada. It took seven legs of transportation. Some stations didn’t have a lift. Or the gap aboard was wide. Or the bag on the carousel was a back-breaking arm’s reach. 

A women in her forties came up behind me at a staircase down to a train, turned to me and said—can I help? I’d love that, I answered. She was happy for the workout, she said, and added, in response to my thanks, that I was grand. 

Nice men—some young, some middle-aged—were equally attentive. One was a boy on a train. His dad’s eyes peered over a row of seats to watch the interaction. The young boy bounded up to offer me a hand lifting the rail to the bag storage and hoisting the bag over a containment guide. I’ll lift the rail, you hoist the bag, I said, giving him the heavy job. The boy got me instantly, and eagerly, with two hands and all the shoulder he could muster, hoisted the bag over the guide. He looked up at me, beaming. He couldn’t have weighed much more than the bag. I glanced at his dad, whose proud eyes surveilled the interaction. A genuine smile passed between us. This is how helpfulness is passed down, I thought. 

Anytime I successfully boarded a mode of transport, I scanned the environment for my next helper, in case they were needed. Those whose heads were bent over their screens, oblivious, were discounted. 

In this way, I travelled with a relay of lovely kind people who enjoyed not only helping, but also, I suspect, my genuine gratitude. We exchanged genuine smiles so significant, so touching, I’m compelled to write about them here. 

I am white-haired, older, small and fit. Although loss of strength leading to my inability to hoist has been gradual, it’s a fact now. My strength threshold is lower than it was at fifty, and at sixty. Even writing now, I struggle to release this as fact, as though I can alter it. As though the law of time itself is a permeable membrane that I can stretch with the right regime. More squats, dumbbells, strength training for ageing women. 

I and my co-conspirator in back-county paddling adventures, MA, are extending, not reducing, our time in the wilderness this August. Which means more food stores and more weight in the packs on our backs over the portages. It’s a lot of hoisting and then fully-burdened trekking across uneven terrain. 

I’ve consulted Gemini with my specifications—I need to be able to hoist and carry a 60-pound pack in August, not to mention the canoe, and then, a month or two later, hoist and carry up and down stairs if needed, a 23-kilo suitcase. Gem has come back with a four-month weekly training program that considers my inflexible hip and a gammy knee. I have the dumbbells. 

I will report back. 

Here’s why I’m heartened and hopeful. Six years ago, I had a bone density test that came back saying osteo-something…meaning heading towards breakable bones. Six months ago, the same test came back saying great density, keep up the good work. My improved bone density is entirely thanks to my extreme walking. If bone density can increase with age—with devoted commitment to an intervention—then loss of strength can be reversed, as long as I devote myself to a program. I hope I like this new regime, as it appears to fit well with the other stuff I do. 

I’m not after pretending not to age. I’m not hiding behind botox on an anti-ageing mission. I’m pro-ageing-well. Everyone should have the opportunity to age well, no matter what else is going on with them cognitively, physically, emotionally, or spiritually.

I heard a great interview with 101-year-old Morry Kernerman on CBC’s The Current. Morry is a super-ager, named as such in a Canadian super-aging study out of Western University. 

Morry was asked what the key to ageing well is. Of course, exercise was a biggie. 

Don’t give into the wall he said, when you’re raising a foot to get into a shoe. Don’t give in to those supports if you can avoid them. Also, he does a lot of walking, hiking, and regular squats. 

Have a passion, he said—he plays the violin and teaches music in South America. 

And a zest for life, he said. I don’t know how that one is developed but it has something to do with finding joy in the everyday, I imagine. And not wanting the day to end, I imagine. 

Maybe a key is imagining.    

Exercise, passion and zest. Good to know. Costs nothing. And far better than the alternative.