Age

It's a phenomenon with which I don't quite know what to do.

As I said earlier, I blithely signed on to another team for a relay this summer.  My strategy is to not forecast too far into the future, my physical capabilities for any upcoming event.  Because who knows?  I can still grind out some decent miles so that's not really my concern.  It mostly boils down to vanity, pride, and ego.  

I looked over our team roster this morning.  We have, from youngest up, one teenager, a sprinkling of twenty-somethings (including my son), some thirty-somethings, mostly forty-somethings, and me.  I am nine years older than the next oldest.  This problem has become more pronounced in the last couple of years.  I used to routinely run with friends who were within a few years of my age, so my question is ..... where'd everyone go??

Why am I flagging out here all alone in my age group?  If I carried my years like super model Christie Brinkley does, who is actually ten months older than me ...... then okay.  I mean, who cares how old she is .... she looks amazing.

I wonder, however, when she runs, IF she runs, if everything jiggles.  If she wears longer shorts to cover some of said jiggling.  If she wears sunglasses for more reasons than sun glare.  If she shies away from tank tops regardless of the temperature.  Probably not.  

I read, just this morning, that Barbara Eden, of the old "I Dream of Jeannie" sitcom, (google it if you are too young to know) can still fit into her genie outfit at age 78.  Not that anyone WANTS her to be wearing it at her age, but just that it fits.  She surely looked amazing at my age too .... a few decades ago.  And at that point, she probably didn't jiggle when she ran ..... IF she ran.  

So it's another year of being the oldest one out there.  All pride, vanity, and ego are tossed aside as I jiggle and schlep my way down the road.  Then after we cross the finish line, I will again consider retirement and some vigorous recovery of my image.   Maybe I'll purchase some red hats, wear flouncy purple dresses and big jewelry, and sit in the shade with a tall glass of raspberry lemonade.  My hair can then remain in place, make-up perfect, nails done, and no sweat in sight.  And no more clown shoes, sports bras, and clunky GPS watches.

And no more runs to procrastinate each morning.  And no more obnoxious hills that jeer at me if I stop and walk.  And no more safety-net from getting fat .... it isn't working that well anyway ....   And no more deep satisfaction after I complete a seven-miler. And no more thrill of being on a team, cheering each other on, and strutting our medals afterwards.  

And then I'll be just a little bit sad.  But I can reunite with people my age.  Maybe Christie will want to hang out.  She probably looks great in purple.