Regrets...I've had a few...but then again...

Too few to mention...(you're welcome for getting that song stuck in your head)..

Last Sunday, during a Face-time conversation with my big brother, who just turned 48, I mentioned the back pain that I've been living with, as well as thinking and writing about ad nauseam these past six months.

"Shouldn't have been doing all of that deadlifting," he said.

His response was similar when I came out of my knee and shoulder surgeries that were likely a result of a lot of running and softball.

I love my big brother dearly, but this is one of several places we differ.

Whatever the reason for my aches, pains and the frustration I have with my body, I have no regrets. Not one.

If there is a cost to aging, I believe that loss is the biggest price. The longer you live, the more loss you survive. I used to think of loss only in terms of death - losing friends and family members. But if there's anything I've learned over the past eight months in dealing with my chronic back pain, it's that the loss that comes with aging is more encompassing than I ever realized. (And I write about all of this knowing that I continue to have the privilege of being able-bodied in a way that many others are not).

We find ourselves comparing our performance and our bodies, not only to others, but also to previous versions of ourselves. I used to run 50 miles in a week. I used to workout five days a week and it never bothered my knees back then. I read a quote a few months ago that said "comparison is the thief of joy."

It is - and the comparison we have to our younger selves might be the biggest thief of all. Because those are the thoughts that feed the fires of should and stoke the flames ever higher.

I think there lies a delicate balance in coming to terms with our ultimate physical demise (which is a phrase I don't love, because it feels so heavy and negative and final). There is some level of acceptance that we need to embrace. At 44 years old I am not going to perform at the same level I did at 26 or even 35 years old.

But there is also stubbornness - I refuse to throw in the towel and assume that my days of feeling strong and physically healthy are over.

A few years back, when I initially injured my shoulder, an athletic trainer friend looked at it for me. He didn't get very far in his exam before proclaiming my diagnosis as "o.l.d."

I didn't throat punch him then, but I thought about it. Because while I'm dealing with the physical effects of aging, I refuse to believe that I'm just old and that's all there is to it.

When I think about the mentality I want to carry into the aging process, I think of my parents. A few weeks ago when I was talking to my mom, she told me that she had fallen earlier in the week. I can't speak for any of you, but more often than not, when I hear about a 75-year old taking a spill, I think of someone falling, breaking a hip and then watching their health slowly deteriorate.

My mom, however, biffed it while chasing a basketball down my brother's driveway while playing with my 11-year old niece and 9-year old nephew. While I don't love that she fell and bruised her ribs substantially, I love that she has the strength and energy to play with them and that her willingness to be active and to bat away the idea that she is old helps her to stay healthy and keep going.

Old is a mindset. I truly believe that.

But understanding and embracing the person you are today - for all of your flaws and for all of the struggles that may come as your body cashes in the check you wrote in your younger years - that is where the work lies. Not in trying to recapture all of the physical things we do in our youth - but in embracing the finer points of aging.

Which for me has included owning things that I love, like vintage sneakers and Fats Domino, as well as things that I don't love - like fireworks.

Happy Fourth.