Glued to the telly, I watched her walk down the stairs. I then watched her husband follow her down the stairs; both of them walked down without using the handrails. They didn’t stumble. No one even looked concerned that they might. There was no personal assistant or valet hovering about to swoop on in just in case.
I looked at them again on the telly equally impressed because frankly the stairs and I have a checkered past. Getting up can be difficult coming down more so as without fail there isn’t a set of steps I have used that I haven’t fallen or tripped up. Coordination and navigation are challenges set to me by the universe and unlike her, my husband is always on hand ready to catch me as I fall. I kid you not.
I called my mother. Were you watching I asked? Did you see the way they moved up and down those stairs I said?
Yes, she replied wondering where this was going.
And did you see how fit she was. How unfrazzled or fogged she looked. I was struck by her grace.
It’s in their breed my mother said like she was talking about a gelding horse on show.
Do you think I said fascinated because I’m serious in how awestruck I am by her agility.
Yeah just look at the Flannings she said. The Flannings are my mother’s neighbours and are so fit. And if we are to compare, they are geldings while yes I or we could be considered asses. And she probably does a lot of exercises my mother added after some thought.
Yeah, I said, but what I mean she was on the ball she almost skipped down those stairs. I can’t even do that I said.
And walking I reckon she does lots of walking said mum giving her final bit.
Stairs to I finished with there would be a shite load of stairs in her place. That and she would have the best of everything as well I said. Best medical care, cosmetic care and chefs but still she just seems so alert and well on the ball that doesn’t just happen either.
Yes well, you know said mum it’s in the breed she said again.
I don’t think the breed has anything to do with it- except for their skin. I said. They have such beautiful skin; it’s so translucent and blemishes free again like we were talking about a breed of horses.
I want to be like her I said finally. I wonder what she does I followed up with. I must have sounded ludicrous to my mother, and I’m sure that this point she thought that girl has spent far to much time on her own because there was a long silence that usually indicates where do we go from here scenario.
And so ever since then I have been researching, stalking, I have even written to her. Well not to her but her people. I want to be like her but let me tell you they give out squat on her ‘routine’.
Who you may ask? Who has become my sudden health idol? Who has me walking more? Eating turmeric, gobbling MSM capsules, walking stairs, attempting yoga, doing crosswords and playing fit brain like my 39-year-old brain depends on it.
It’s the Queen.
Scoff you may but that woman is 90 years old, and she has more sass than Michelle Bridges after a round at the gym. She is growing old gracefully and while she has her fair share of luxury she has had her fair share of worries and yet look at her. If you were watching her at her Jubilee, she practically ran down the stairs without the handrail. Without the handrail people. I can’t even contemplate the stairs without a handrail; I am that woman who will veer to the far side of the room to grab a wall to support herself.
And as surprised as I am that it’s the Queen I’m aspiring to and not some strong bikini-clad woman that’s it in a nutshell a sign perhaps I am spending too much time on my own or I’m just being real. And while I’m not sure I want to live to 90 I sure as hell want to be my best version of it. I want to die in my own bed having climbed in myself knowing I have wiped my own bum and chin the night before.
Long live the Queen.
xxDeb
{image with thanks to here}
