And... They're Off!

Know anyone in their 30s? Do they run? Like, not to get anywhere, but for fun? Of course they do. Running seems to be the thing to do among people in my age bracket. Strike that. It seems to be the thing to do among everyone in my age bracket. Once people reach their 30s, in this country anyway, they run. Not from anything or to anywhere, physically speaking. Metaphorically, however, perhaps they run to get away from middle age, or to get back to their youth, or a combination of the two, or just one of those because really they’re the same thing. Whatever the reason, people run. Like a bunch of damn Forrest Gumps.

Once we cross the threshold into 30, a starter’s pistol goes off in our heads. I guess the thinking is, if you’re able to travel 13 miles in under half an hour, then you’re moving too fast. Slow down. Take in the sights. Breathe the fresh air. Feel the cramps. Pin a number to your shirt as if you’ve been tagged by the government.

Running is good for us. It clears the mind, clears the arteries, reduces excess weight and builds up endurance. And while running may be harder on the nipples than driving a car, it’s also good for the environment. Of course, nobody trades in their car for a pair of running shoes. It’s not typically done as a means of transport. I’ve yet to see someone run to the grocery store and then run home with a week’s worth of food in their arms. Runners tend to only move in circles. Or at least have cars waiting for them at the finish line. But even if they’re still destroying the environment, at least runners enjoy longer lives in the muck and the mire.

Our 30s are when we start to feel the years catching up to us. That’s why we’re dumbfounded when professional athletes that age manage to not puke on themselves after shooting a pair of particularly grueling free throws. People in their 50s and 60s, however, are quick to scoff at the notion of a 30-something feeling old. “You don’t know what it feels like to be old,” they mumble through the drool. But if the geezers could somehow remember their lives 20 years prior, they’d recall that their bodies started wearing down long before diapers became necessary again.

My hunch is that people don’t take up running to learn how to appreciate cramps or to aid the environment. Health plays a factor, as we all get more health conscious as the years tick by, but while the driving force certainly has to do with the movement of a clock, it’s our hope to make it turn backwards as opposed to our concern over triglyceride levels as it ticks forward.

Wanting to feel like we can still swim laps all day, outrun our kids or dunk a basketball. To stop compiling injuries to our necks, backs, arms and legs that were brought on by sleeping on them funny. To, as I said earlier, recapture our youth. That’s my hunch. At least it was.

Now I tend to think we just get braver once we hit our 30s. We become more willing to stare down our fears, to try things we weren’t willing to try before. At this point people usually know what they’re capable of, what their limitations are, but they’re also more confident. A lot of people have secured a career, gotten married, bought a house and had kids before saying goodbye to their 30s. That’s a lot to be confident for. Hell, raising kids who know not to hold their pet hamster out the window of a moving car is reason enough to give a person confidence.

Sure, it means we have a lot more to lose than we did in our 20s, but we understand the risks better too. We look to go after what stirs the fire inside us. Plus, there’s not much we should be afraid of trying. And there isn't.

Good luck, Sweetie. And look out, Everest.

Enough With Your Ambition

I don’t know how other people do it. By ‘it’ I mean anything. I don’t know how other people do anything.

I’m always impressed whenever anyone achieves the slightest of accomplishments. Like the other day when my daughter put together a 24 piece puzzle by herself. A modest achievement given her age and the fact that this wasn’t the first time she had worked on it. Nevertheless, I was immediately filled with pride over her obvious intelligence, and then quickly filled with shame when I remembered it took me twice as long to put it together the day before and I had to use a piece from a different puzzle in order to finish it.

My awe doesn’t stop at my kids, though. I find I’m most impressed by what professional athletes my age can do. Actually, if they’re my age I’m impressed they can do anything at all. Most professional athletes, no matter what the sport, are younger than I am. If you’re involved in a professional sport at my age and are able to remain upright for more than 15 consecutive minutes, you’re most likely a coach.

Every year around this time, I find myself particularly admiring the Super Bowl-winning quarterback, who in most seasons hasn’t reached his mid-30s or any part of his 30s, for leading a team through the duration of a grueling football season and then to the championship title. Sadly, though, that’s not so much impressive as it is the standard in professional football. The reality is that on those rare occasions when the Super Bowl-winning quarterback is in his mid-30s, everyone else really admires him for the simple fact that he can run 20 yards without vomiting all over his jersey.

But most non-professional athletes are wowed by rare athletic talents. What lazy slob wouldn’t be? I somehow manage to get blown over by Super Bowl winners, tiny puzzle assemblers and everyone in between. My jaw tends to drop when I hear of someone buying a house, earning a managerial job, writing a book, writing a screenplay, earning a Best Actor nomination, climbing Mt. Everest, or even just getting to Mt. Everest. I used to think doing any of those things is impressive at 25, but now I think they’re all pretty remarkable at 45.

I just never feel like I’m old enough, or talented enough, to pull off things the way others do who are my age or younger. I know one day when I’m strolling through the local farmer’s market while weighing the pros and cons of a cane compared to a scooter, I’ll mutter to myself, “How can that guy possibly run a fruit stand, he’s only 52 years old?”

A couple of psychological factors may be at play here. As one possibility, it seems likely that I use my incomprehension over others’ accomplishments as a way to justify my unimpressive, sloth-like behavior. Another factor might be… uh… no, I think that’s pretty much the answer (see, I can’t even come up with another reason).

There are those rare occasions when I surprise myself with what I can do. Like the time I proved not only how capable, but also how manly I am by fixing the gutter. Of course the only reason I had to fix the gutter is because I first proved how womanly I am by running over it with my car.

Even though trillions of people have done it before me, I still occasionally marvel at how I’m helping to raise two kids. Then again it’s too early to gauge how good of a job I’m doing. They’re still too young to get arrested or disappoint me with all of their major life decisions (although they are starting to disappoint me with their musical choices).

I can bowl over 200. Not in real life, but on Nintendo Wii. Is that something?

Perhaps I should give it a shot at an actual bowling alley. Or try to earn a Best Actor nomination. Or travel to Mt. Everest. I’m not climbing the damn thing; I’m in my mid-30s for crying out loud. You know how many jerseys I’d go through?