Aging as a Runner
And why I keep at it.
After 47 years of running, I find myself slowly jogging into the mists of late life. Old age. Golden years. Whatever you want to call them. My pace slows every year, and my aches and pains increase. But my love, and need, of running is still there. It does not diminish.
My best running efforts are long in the past. What I call a run in my 68th year, others most likely consider a glorified shuffle. But I refuse to stop. I will not cease to shuffle simply because I am no longer swift of foot. I will not allow great to become the enemy of good, or in my case mediocre.
I am stubborn when it comes to running. For example, I will not run on a treadmill. I run outside. I run in the heat and the cold. Snow. Rain. Wind. I power up hills and float down. No headphones, earbuds or any other artificial noise to mask the wind, the birds, the waves or even the mundane noise of suburbia. And I do this slowly and sometimes with walk breaks that are a concession to the arthritis and the miles that have accumulated over those 47 years.
Yes, I am a slow runner. A jogger. A shuffler. Call it what you will but don’t say that I am not an athlete. Just last week I joined hundreds of other geezers to compete in the Tennessee Senior Olympics. An Olympic style competition for people 50 and older. Not only did we compete for state titles, we…
