As you may have discovered, sisu is that extra effort you can make when it seems there is no more in the tank. But that may bring to mind the scene where an exhausted woman digs deep after eighteen hours of labor, to push a new life into the world. Or perhaps you imagine James Bond smiling through clenched teeth as the villain slams his testicles with a knotted rope. Yes, we are sometimes called upon to go far beyond our limits.

But this particular section is dedicated to a quieter kind of strength. You see, all of us, if we are fortunate, will reach an age when our bodies begin to fail. Up until a certain age, if we became sick, or injured, or were defeated in a contest, or lost a job, or a loved one, we could see it as a disaster from which we would, or could, recover. Life very well might return to a painless ‘normal.’

But enter your last quarter of life and you discover that your doctor, or dentist is saying, “Well, that’s normal for someone your age.” A trick knee. Osteoporosis. Arthritis. Bunions. Dead molars. A whole passel of little nasties. And you can get them treated, but they are not going to go away. Those gremlins have become your companions for the rest of your life.

Eat well. Exercise. Get lots of sleep. Keep busy. Make friends. And hurt.

Suppose … (and this is a common one) suppose on most days when I wake up and need to make my first bathroom break, my knee joints hurt like the devil when I bend them? Should I just stay in bed? They won’t stop hurting today…take your pick…at all…or…until I get up and move around for a while. That effort may make them hurt more.

Here’s where the gentle sisu needs to kick in. (If kicking isn’t too painful.) I say hello to the pain. It’s a familiar gremlin. I have a pretty good idea of its limits. So while part of me is saying, truthfully, “I can’t,” another part is saying, “Let’s try.” The first steps across the cold floor are forbidding. But I know this pain. And, curiously, it is telling me I am alive. And if I sort of ride it; not push it away, but somehow use it to tell me to move and stretch and walk with it. It becomes less important. And after a while it can kind of become background noise. Like my tinnitus, I won’t notice it until I am still, or making an extra effort.

And that is where we seniors must respect the pain and have a little dialog with the sisu. Because we can hurt ourselves if we think we will heal the way we did when we were young. And pain always is a warning bell. So here’s where we must engage smart sisu. Listen to your body with deep respect. It’s a leaky lifeboat, but it is your only vessel. And you can choose. Today I want to walk three miles with my grandkids, even though I know tomorrow will be a Motrin day. Choose your battles.

Maybe that knee twinge is not a coming storm, but rather a critically torn meniscus.

But the people who care for us need to know– most of us are moving in a small constellation of pains. We are no longer the people we were, although often we want to be as much as you want us to be. But what Al Pacino’s character in Scent Of A Woman calls that ‘hoo-ah moment’, when life hits us with that jab of pain, that’s when we are engaging our sisu and carrying on (as we insist on carrying the groceries.)