Running

I went running with my running club tonight. It was the first time in months. I am the oldest person by far. Most of the other members were in preschool when I began with the club in 1990. Sarah Palin was a cheerleader and George Clooney was unemployed.
I was a decent runner, able to keep up with all but the fastest. I would enter the one mile fun run at town races and destroy the little puffing kids. I had no shame. Gradually, more and more runners began passing me, including women and they didn't have to work very hard to do it. I kidded myself, imagining I could move into another gear anytime I wanted. One day I really wanted to keep up with this woman and it just wasn't there. As I watched her vanish into the night something died inside me.
A coward would have quit, skulked away in shame. But I persisted, worked harder and longer, dedicated myself to progress. Months later, I was still coughing up people's pebbles as they flew by me. At that point I truly understood mortality.
I show up on a Tuesday night, along with two dozen others. I stretch out, while they chat. I'm not much of a chatter. I don't look like I belong with them. I am some old guy standing on the corner waiting for a bus in their eyes. I stay far in the back, finish so late they are already hanging out in a nearby bar. I bet I can drink faster than them.