Fear of Falling

I recently did a steep hike in snow that was deeper than I expected. I should have worn snowshoes instead of the snow cleats that weren’t quite enough to keep me from slipping where the incline was too sharp. I had hiked this trail—in all seasons—dozens of times before, yet I suddenly felt anxious, as if one wrong step and I would fall, possibly hurt myself or tumble down the slope.

I wasn’t in grave danger—the trees below would have stopped me from going too far. My fear, I think, came more from feeling that I could easily lose control. Last summer I took a rough tumble from an e-bike—my first attempt at riding an electric bike. I had some nasty bruising but nothing serious. What was scarier was that I couldn’t control the bike or my fall into a ditch.

Maybe I’m not as strong as I think I am or want to believe I am. It’s difficult to accept, because I’ve spent my whole life being physically active—bicycling, swimming, walking, snowshoeing and both downhill and cross-country skiing. For the most part I was confident in my body, except for those times when I accidentally landed on a black- diamond ski run and had to gingerly make my way down the steep slope.

I know that getting weaker and losing flexibility is part of the aging process. My physical therapist told me that older people have to work to maintain our strength and balance, because if we do nothing, we’ll lose muscle mass, strength and the ability to balance. To increase my balance, my PT wants me to do exercises where I stand on one foot, which is difficult, but if I close my eyes and so can’t gauge my body in my surroundings, it’s impossible. How did I lose my body?

There are many physical reasons why we get weaker as we age, but I have to wonder if my fear of falling is partly psychological. As I get older, it feels like my body is betraying me, even as I maintain my daily regimen of exercise—20 minutes of yoga and a walk/hike that is shorter than it used to be but still aerobic.  Yet, despite my heroic efforts to stop the aging process, the physical losses pile up—neuropathy in my feet, osteoporosis in my arms and legs, arthritis in my hands and hips, sinus problems, etc.—something new crops up every week. Everyone can fill in the blank with their own physical problems.

The bottom line is that I feel I can no longer trust my body—this body that once used to easily handle ski slopes, ice skate, dive into swimming pools and lakes. That body—and the person who was so confident about her athletic abilities—is gone forever. The only answer is to accept my limitations and be cautious—continue to wear my snow cleats if I’m on snow-packed or icy trails—and accept that I’ll never again downhill ski, even on easy runs.