Half jokingly a co-worker called me a “jock” the other day. I take it as a compliment. I’m 55 years old and trying my hardest to get into the best shape I can.
Well, most of the time I am. I’m not completely strict diet-wise, but I soon will be. I work out tons, I stick to my schedule, and on my way to swimming this morning at 5:30am I thought about what being a “jock” felt like at my age. Thirty years ago, the only thing I was worried about was having enough money for booze and other “things” for the weekend. I was naturally thin, never worried about getting into shape. In my mid-20s I started running and in my 30s I ran a lot and hardly ate. I still drank though. And drank and ran and drank some more.
Nearly nine years ago, I quit drinking for good and made my life so much better. I love life. Everything isn’t always great, but I can certainly handle the not-great better sober than I ever did drunk or hungover.
And it’s funny. Now I live as if I have no time to waste, which at 55 years old, I don’t. Every moment is precious. I’m not in my twenties anymore when an entire day spent hungover in bed isn’t a big deal. Now when I’m sick in bed I hate hate hate it and wish more than anything i could get those hours back. Because I know they are lost forever, it gets me up and active faster and functioning a bit quicker.
I hope I can think of this post as I chug up that nasty hill towards the Golden Gate Bridge Sunday when I know I’ll be feel every single second of my 55 years….