Keeping up with the grandkids

There is no end of advice on staying healthy and strong while you’re getting older.
Eat vegetables. Take vitamins. Drink water. Walk daily. Use resistance bands. Sleep well.
I know of another way. It’s free. It’s fun. And it promises to be the best of times, for which you will be eternally thankful.
So, what is this elixir of youth?
Grandchildren.
My wife and I recently spent a few days in Boise with our daughter and her family, which includes our 9-year-old granddaughter, Hadley, and our 6-year-old grandson, Holden.
These are active, fit kids involved in numerous sports, including gymnastics, soccer, flag football, basketball and Taekwondo. So when we visit, I need to be on my A game. As the years pass, it’s getting harder to keep up with them.
While we were there, they literally ran grandpa into the ground. They do not take it easy. They have no mercy. They want to win — and do.
We played frozen tag at a playground. I came close to catching Hadley after a long foot pursuit, but the kid is a graceful runner and I finally gave up.
But with my daughter’s help, we could generally catch one of them, but not both.
“No puppy guarding,” Holden would say as I stood near Hadley.
Eventually, I would dutifully go after Holden, and then he had me. He would run in a wide, sweeping circle, returning to tag Hadley and set her free. This led them to giggle hysterically as they dashed off.
When we walked the dogs, Hadley would kick a soccer ball along and challenge me to get it from her. I tried, but she was not only quick and agile, but accurate at kicking the ball through my legs, then racing around to get it.
After a few sprints, I was gassed. Running 6 miles at 8:40 pace was far easier than trying to keep up with Hadley and her soccer ball for 20 yards.
I played catch with Holden, who every now and then would wind up and let the baseball fly as hard as he could, his best fastball.
“Don’t try to catch it, grandpa,” he would shout as a warning.
I chased, but could not catch, them through a maze of turning, up-and-down tunnels at Burger King.
As I crawled and wondered where they were, I could hear their laughter echoing in the tunnels.
Once, I had Hadley by the foot, but she scrambled away. As for Holden, he proved to be quite elusive.
“You never even found me, grandpa,” he said proudly.
We battled on the basketball court, usually Hadley and Holden against me. They crushed me with a relentless, swarming defense, stealing the ball at will before I could get a shot off.
I tend to refer to myself as Michael Jordan during these games.
“Michael Jordan scores!”
“Michael Jordan with the rebound!”
“Michael Jordan hits another jumper!”
This annoyed Hadley to no end.
“You are not Michael Jordan!” she would say with exasperation.
When I insisted I was like Michael Jordan, she said, “You’re not even 6 feet tall.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because you look like a 5-foot person,” Hadley answered.
She wins.
I played Holden one final time the morning we left. He won a spirited, smile-filled contest. With each basket over my outstretched arms, he overflowed with joy. When we returned to the house, I said, “Holden beat me, 20-9.”
“It was 21-9,” Holden quickly corrected.
Running is my specialty, but to have a chance, I have to trick them in short foot races, say 25 yards to a tree, by getting them to look at something or pretending I’m not ready, and then bolting away, claiming a big head start.
“Grandpa, you can’t do that,” they cried.
No matter.
They still overtake me, beaming with delight as they sprint by, reaching the makeshift finish line and then turning around with big grins.
It is a pleasant defeat.
Yes, I love running on Tubbs Hill, swimming in Lake Coeur d’Alene at Sanders Beach and biking on the North Idaho Centennial Trail. But I have found when I am with my grandchildren, it is then I am young in mind, body, spirit and, most importantly, at heart.
I just wish they would let me win.