I'm 52, and as surprising as it may seem. I'm a gymnast. In a sport for young girls, I have found an unlikely path to joy. When I enter the gym, no matter how much stress I might be feeling, my mind clears and I forget my life. I think of nothing but what I am doing.

When I was 9, I went every Saturday to a gymnastic academy. The coach had gray hair and wore ballet shoes and had boundless enthusiasm. He would say, "You are going to be a gymnast." And I believed him. I vividly remember the first time I did a round off back handspring by myself, the weightlessness of it. I lived for Saturday mornings. I only ever did gymnastics recreationally — I didn't even know real gyms existed — but I always loved it.

That longdormantlove came roaring back in my forties. It happened in an instant, at parents' day for my daughter's beginning gymnastics class. The bars were just sitting there, and I had this overwhelming urge to grab hold and swing. But I couldn't make it through the warm-up at the first adult class I went. I felt bad during conditioning. I was the oldest person there. But that spark of memory glowed with possibility. I went back to class again, and again. It was hard and it was humbling. But soon I was doing back handsprings like I used to.

There is nothing like the thrill of getting a new skill, that combination of speed, mechanics, timing, muscles, and bravery. There is an indescribable (不可言喻的) element, too, something like faith. By the time we reach middle age, most of us have had to deal with our fair share of unwelcome surprises, like illness, family crisis or the death of a beloved parent. But gymnastics has brought the most delightful surprises — I keep getting better, overcoming what I thought were limits, amazing myself by what I can do. At a time in life when many things feel like they are sliding down the slope (斜坡) towards old, gymnastics is a gift of fluency and competence in motion. I'm in the best shape of my life. I'm a better gymnast now than I was at 16.