Professing from deep within that I belong to a community of active, vibrant women warms my heart. To tell you that we range in age from 62 to 67, three of us only months away from 70, fills me with delight and awe. We have our portfolios of grief and loss, health traumas, and the heart-expanding joy of weddings and grandchildren. We hug, we laugh, we show up for each other.
The friendships within this posse of energized and graceful women have evolved over many years. We started as harried mothers with runny-nosed children, clutching a tiny hand with an armful of skis and helmets, and a lunch bag slung over our shoulder. The awkward walk up and down stairs in ski boots perfected to a ballet step while balancing a toddler on our hip, still too young for the magic carpet.
We commiserated in the boot room over whining kids, lost goggles and forgotten mitts. Promises of hot chocolate and sour keys got them out the door and handed off to a coach barely old enough to be out after dark. Relief, let’s have a coffee. Then we’ll do a few runs before we must go in and save a table for lunch.
We survived.
Last week I sat at a picnic table in the cafeteria with those same women. Celebrating a milestone birthday and Ladies Day at our Ski Club, we embraced the Olympic Theme with vigour. Our dark blue sequined figure skating dresses accommodated our aging bodies beautifully, glittering across our breasts, the stretchy middle found our waistlines, and then draped over our butts and thighs. The leg warmers, a throwback from the eighties, gave an athletic flair as they sat scrunched down above our white running shoes. We were all in – a team of fourteen. Our star performer wore a matching red dress, sparkling Tiara and sash proudly announcing her age. Her joy was contagious.
Looking down the bench and across the table at the slicked back hair, blue eye shadow and wide smiles, I wished I could hold the image and bottle the energy – knowing we would all need it at some point in the future. Instead, I said a silent thank you and committed the faces to memory. Hoping that it would become part of an indelible slideshow of beloved memories. There were rolling conversation clusters, intense and intimate with frequent bursts of laughter. These continued out onto the ski hill and on the chair lift rides.
As I attempt to hold on to the day, there are sticky gems that are staying with me. On a ride up the hill, I discussed the merits of plant medicine and breathwork as modalities to explore our deeper selves with a newfound like-minded, curious and fearless soul. In a conversation with another seeker, I found a shared interest in Buddhism. Sharing stories of our grandparenthood, mothering adult children, and the challenges of children becoming parents were common.
The lunchtime table chat started with the grey as we all took off our helmets and attempted to tidy our dry and flattened hair. Do we colour it over, keep going lighter to meet it, or blend it with highlights for the foreseeable future? How do we trust that it will look ok if we succumb to Mother Nature? I want to believe that she knows what she’s doing. Then, from the hair to the body. What about protein – how much do we need and how do we eat that much? We have to weight train to keep our body strong. What supplements do you take? Has anyone found a miracle serum for wrinkles? What’s with the puffy duck lips? We talked to each other and over each other, while the phones to share pictures flew around the table. The group mobilized after lunch for a few more runs before the band and dancing started.
As the afternoon edged towards evening, we hugged, sometimes the same person more than once, and headed home. The friendships had been nurtured, some deepened, and all affirmed as meaningful, supportive and fun-loving. We didn’t win any prizes, and all left with a precious gift.