"What happened? You were fine in 2019," Dr. Norman Takeda, my affable eye doctor asked. He wasn't being judgmental. My vision was getting worse. He prescribed the eye vitamins Preservision Areds 2.

"Make sure you take them," he said as he peered at me through his oval eyeglasses. I switched to Ocuvite so I only had to take one pill instead of two.

Year 2022 was a year of reckoning. I learned that at 62, walking an hour a day was not enough. In theory, I knew this. In the book, "Younger Next Year" by Chris Crowley, my takeaways were, "Quit eating crap. Exercise consistently. Do vigorous exercise that raises your heart rate."

Sitting was the new smoking. I reminded my son, my brother and myself. I ate well 80 percent of the time and I stayed active or so I thought.

Aging was a formidable opponent. One day, during a Zoom meeting, I noticed a bulge on my neck. Running my right hand up and down, I felt the bulge. Nothing like a health-scare to propel me to action. This was not entirely a surprise because I have a problem with my thyroid, an autoimmune disease.

"I need to see a doctor right away," I told the receptionist at UC Davis. I said I didn't want to wait until the endocrinologist at the UC Davis in Elk Grove came back from maternity leave in July.

On March 31, the nurse at the doctor's office was nonchalant about my elevated blood pressure. But I was concerned. My blood pressure had always been low! Two days later, on a Sunday, I strode into the gym for the first time since the pandemic for yoga practice. I started doing Zumba again.

On May 26, I was able to see the Chief of Endocrinology at the UC Davis Clinic in Sacramento. He recommended adjusting my thyroid medication to keep my thyroid-stimulating hormone levels in the low-normal range. My presentation was the typical autoimmune disease—my Immune system was confused and was attacking my thyroid.

I truly thought aging well was within my control. Before the sixth decade of my life, I decided to fight aging as best I could. As a cancer survivor, eating healthy, exercising, getting enough sleep were non-negotiables.

For many years, I didn't own a scale. I never worried about weight gain even during my pregnancy. God blessed me with good metabolism.

At work, coworkers would comment. "You eat a lot. How come you never gain weight?" I didn't quite know what to say. I was active. I had a challenging job. I was a mother and a wife. I exercised. For the most part, I watched what I ate.

The reason I finally bought a scale when I retired was to weigh my luggage for travel, to avoid paying excess luggage fees. To this day, I tell people, "I exercise not to lose weight but to be healthy and free from aches and pains."

During my 2022 visit to the Philippines, my brother's girlfriend Nancy, noted, "You've gained weight, your arms are bigger, your hips are wider."

Sitting on the plane heading back to California, I felt my thick waistline where belly fat spilling over touched my elbows. I vowed to lose whatever pounds I had gained from indulging in Filipino baked goods, barbecued chicken and grilled pork belly.

The scale became a needy, annoying friend. I weighed myself obsessively several times a day. Keeping the weight off was no longer easy.

Realization: I was sitting and eating more. My body was slowing, aging. What's going to happen when I'm seventy?

~ Nida Spalding