50 Is the New Dead

I don't like getting older, I really don't. Who does, right? But for me it's worse, and if you disagree, get your own blog. I notice it a bit more each day; like when the guy inside my head won't let me rest until I know the stray trash in front of the house is picked-up and so I go out to do it. I've actually bought rubber gloves just for the chore. The surgical kind. What kind of young hipster do you know who'd do that? Eh? Tell me. Others may see someone at the threshold of 40 who's maybe, just a little hypersensitive about his milestone. What I see is a quickly aging guy who has a little dog he talks to while in the shower. Sometimes in a baby voice. I don't care, I'll own it. Like you haven't done it a time or two yourself.

I'm noticing lots of things I contribute to age: My worship of all things spicy is forsaking me. A craving for pizza that I turn into a dinner, dripping in Tabasco and jalapenos now requires careful self analysis and consideration and strategic planning not unlike the storming of Normandy. "Wait, what do I have going on in the morning? Do I have time to sit around and wait for the spicy jalapeno pizza to exact its fiery revenge? Is there Pepsid in the house? Alka-Seltzer? Cold milk? TP?"

With age comes certain intolerance, while I always figured I'd grow into a Zen-like understanding and tolerance; like when the ghetto kids who walk through our neighborhood boldly drop their emptied Frito bags. I should just kinda ignore that and shrug my shoulders and say "eh, kids!", right? No. I don't do that and it makes me angry. Not just a little angry, but an I-want-to-drink-their-blood angry. Kids! The intolerance extends to people and things and little hard-headed dogs who hurt or offend or won't listen to me when I say "No" and "Don't eat that!"

It's becoming easier to sever the people and things and situations that hurt me, except for food. I've recently discovered a food allergy. One that's popped-up out of nowhere. Honey. Never mind I could always suck it down with a straw if I wanted to (not that I have. No, never. I'm serious), used it in coffee until I weaned myself off sweeteners. I've discovered that if I use it as a quick antidote for a sugar craving, it swells the neck a little and sets off an itchy reaction in my inner ear, the sensation as close to medically diagnosed insanity as I care to get. Yet I keep going back. It can't really be a sudden food allergy, can it? I'll just take a little taste. Maybe it's the combination with the B12 vitamin. Woop, there it is again. No, is it really? Better take another taste...and so on. Unlike people, I seem to give food items 4th and 5th and 30th chances to prove me wrong. The moral here? There is none.

I saw my buddy JJ yesterday afternoon biking through the neighborhood. JJ's an artist along with her husband; they own a successful sign and graphic company here in Boston. She's 53 years old with the body of a svelte 30 year old; yoga, cycling/and or running everyday, a constant happy-high, one of those people you want to strangle before you've had your coffee. And did I mention she's training for a bike marathon and race in Italy this September? As we stopped and talked JJ suggested she 'train me' for a few months to get me back to fighting strength. I shrugged it off and said I was easing back into spinning and light training, which translates to a gym visit once every two weeks. "Bullshit" she said. "That'll get you nowhere." I told her I wasn't easing toward 40 very gracefully, but she said "40 is the new 25". Yeah, well 50 is the new dead, lady, and you've got plus-3 years on it. I had to submit for that comment and we begin training on Saturday morning. Wish me luck.

Posted by JD on June 20, 2007 10:43 AM