Last month I was wondering where December had gone and now I’m
wondering where January went. This sense of flying time has got to be a product
of either my aging, or maybe my children aging? Speaking of aging, I think
there was a 33rd bday somewhere in January, but I can’t be too sure. I was too
busy swimming in virused bodily fluids (as I am now, for our 3rd go-around of disease) while my husband was on a man’s trip. All while we were
living with another man. Roberto moved
in with us from Argentina, David traveled to a bevy of Central American
countries which I claimed I supported until Iris got sick and I found at least
a half-dozen rancid green puddles hidden around the house after returning from
a run. That’s when I got MAD. When people heard about David’s escapade, the
traditional response was, “When is it your turn?” I’d venture to say “Never” b/c
I will be able to hang this over his head for a really long time. And I mean
REALLY.
Now I feel compelled to write my annual contemplations on
birthday aging, mainly because I feel like this year I’m pleased about it
whereas I have been ambivalent in the past. You heard me right, this year I’m happy
about getting older. I know myself better than ever and therefore have an
enhanced understanding of others. I think this is what people call wisdom
(definitely not knowledge—my brain is gelatinous). I’m more comfortable in my
skin than I’ve ever been—no matter the size and irrespective of its frequent break-outs
(which technically should categorize me as a teenager— they share my mood swings
and accompanying whiteheads). With this wisdom comes an awareness that I’m not
the center of the universe and what I struggle with is extremely inferior to what
most of the world has to deal with, which then leads me to a sense of awe and
thanksgiving, paired with empathy. In part, my metamorphic aging process might
be a product of lengthening relationships: daughter, wife, parent, friendships
with those who are unlike me. Lasting relationships require enduring
patience, selfless love, and self-control.
That’s the mental/spiritual aging. Then there’s the
physical. A year ago I felt like I was at the climax of my Spanish abilities
and in a few weeks I believe I’ll be at the climax of my physical abilities. I
will complete the last bucket-list item from my post-missionary goals (since
23-year-olds can’t think much past the age of 33): the marathon.
Anything for which you must take anticipatory drugs should
not be classified as leisure nor fun. But ever since I walked the last mile of
the Boston marathon with my mom (she was a bandit runner and I was 6), I have
had the desire to do the same, even after watching her have to painfully climb
stairs backwards for a few days after. Last night my pounding head hung over
the toilet for the same reason.
18 miles at 9:03 min/mile.
Next week is my 20 miler and I will have to make sure
to write my obituary before March 2, partly b/c I’m not sure
whether I will make it and partly b/c after I’ve finished the last item on my
bucket list, what’s left? Bucket list #2, I guess, but this time I won’t be
able to see myself much past the age of 43—knock, knock knocking on heaven’s
door.
I’ll admit, it has been enjoyable pushing myself physically
more than I ever have before. Until training, I have never been so focused that
I can’t eat—I even have to force myself to drink during the long runs. I
usually run in the dark, watching shooting starts, beautiful sunrises, and listening
to books. I’m now listening to Atlas Shrugged,
which by the way, should be required reading for all fiscal liberals (even
though Ayn Rand’s characters are way too flat—I couldn’t finish Fountainhead,
it was too painful). Anyway, here I am at the summit of my musculature, unless
geriatric bodybuilding is in the stars, which it very well could be (steroids
would work wonders for my beard). And I guess I’m ok with this summit too,
although I wonder how many more summits I’ll reach before it’s all downhill.
But really, downhills are the best part of rollercoasters, so I’m just going to
roll with it.
