Opinion

Anita Robinson: I fear I don't score well on the healthy mind and body scale

Anita Robinson
Anita Robinson Anita Robinson

Let me share good news for those of us of ‘a certain age’. “Mental decline in the elderly is not an inevitable process,” say scientists.

That’s a relief…. It was thought that in later life, brain shrinkage and cell death were the cause of our putting gloves in the fridge and butter on the hall table. Not so, say the men in white coats. On the contrary, 700 new brain cells are created everyday in the part of the brain which processes memories and emotions in the healthy elderly.

The important word there is ‘healthy’, meaning people who are “physically active, socially outgoing, eager to keep learning and stick to a sensible diet.” I score only one out of four – viz. ‘socially outgoing’. There’s nothing like a good lunch in the company of clever women, or dinner, where the presence of intelligent men creates a different dynamic. Both give the old grey cells a thorough workout. It would appear though I’d need to work on the other three criteria if I’m not to dwindle rapidly into dotage.

I was never a fan of physical exercise. All that running, jumping and hitting round things with flat things struck me as utterly pointless, possibly because my hand/eye co-ordination was poor and I never got the hang of the rules. Not a team-player either – I didn’t care who won.

Sport was hot, sweaty and getting your hair ruined. Ditto swimming, only wet and drowny. “Give yourself to the water!” was the coach’s encouraging cry. Not bloomin’ likely. I never took the last toe off the bottom.

I made the mistake of marrying a man who liked walking and made the further error of consenting (unwillingly) to accompany him. He’d set off at a cracking pace, with me trailing and whingeing behind. Acquaintances in passing cars hooted and pointed in disbelief. Summer Sundays were blighted by driving to Benone beach, where he became a dwindling dot under the Mussenden temple. I sat in the car, the windows hermetically sealed, sucking Werthers Originals and reading the papers.

As for ‘keep learning’, I have signally failed to acquire new skills. The internet is a mystery to me. Apparently I have ‘wifi’. Is that the wee blue light that blinks at me reproachfully from the landing? My laptop, Kindle and iPad are still in their festive wrappings of Christmases past. Give me a good novel, a glass of wine and a nice documentary rather than the witless trivia of strangers. My mobile phone is 12 years old, has fallen down two toilets and taken no harm. Fortunately it doesn’t have a ‘selfie’ function.

Insofar as ‘eating healthily’ is concerned, I fulfil some of the criteria, i.e. three meals a day, though portion-size may be over-generous and late-night attacks of the munchies, e.g. toast, butter, marmalade and cheese at 2am probably disqualify me. Also, the treats cupboard, which is the most frequently replenished in the kitchen.

I suspect the rot has already set in. I’m reaping the fruits of my folly. My glasses are the first thing I put on; my high heels the first thing I take off. I keep a packet of Rennies in every handbag. I sound an “oomph!” of relief when I subside into a chair. Rising from it, I have to pause and engage first gear before moving off. Uncannily, the Powers That Be are aware I’m on the slide. My letterbox spews forth an unending tsunami of advertising bumf – for walk-in baths, hearing aids, funeral plans and those gribber-grabber doofers for picking up small things from the floor. Jam jar lids and wine bottle corks are my nemesis.

There are other symptoms. You know that thing where you walk into a room and stand wondering what you went in for? Small items, (keys, money, important documents) definitely put down in one place, mysteriously move of their own volition somewhere else. Scariest of all, when writing, I embark on a lengthy diatribe and can’t remember the point I was going to make…… Hang on – it’ll come to me in a minute.