no spring chicken

I was enjoying breakfast and an espresso this morning after doing a swim workout when I guy the next table over asked me about my "Top of Utah Marathon" sweatshirt.  Apparently his son had run it a couple of years ago.

We’d spent a few minutes talking when he threw out this beauty :

"So – how do you do all of this running?  I mean you’re obviously no spring chicken anymore."

I don’t know how long I paused before answering, but I do remember some of the possible replies that crossed my mind :

"%&$#@ you too buddy!"

"I’m not ? "

But I know he’s right, even if socially inept.  I’m past the prime for a professional athlete or pinup model.  Both of these realizations hit me about 7 or 8 years ago though.

So – a number of folks I run with are very good masters level runners, who win their age groups in reasonably-sized races.  Spring chickens?  Nope.  Good athletes?  Definitely.  I’d estimate that at least half the problem here is perceptual.  After we hit 40, we become victims of low expectations.

This is not to say I don’t have more aches and pains than I used to.  But it’s hardly enough to relegate me to the couch.

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