I recently turned 43. This birthday had a special meaning for me and my loved ones.
On my 43rd birthday “eve”, while sitting on my couch, I decided to celebrate. I initiated and ran the inaugural Ken’s 43rd Birthday Eve Still Runnin’ Extravaganza Anywhere5K. This run had one entrant. It followed my usual course—past Missy, the old gray mutt holding court in her front yard, up a two-tenth mile hill, through back streets where kids played tag, and down a long curve back to my home. And then running the circuit two more times until I strode across the finish line on the good side of the 30-minute mark. I won.
Just to be clear, I don’t run–I jog. When I lace up my shoes, I do so in the spirit of survival, not competition. I turned 40 a few years back, and like many men my age, I panicked. If you don’t believe me, just look at the results of any local 5K. The age groups really begin to stack up around 40 and above.
Don’t be fooled, though. There are many fast and talented runners in the Master’s (euphemism for ‘old’) Class. It is just that I am not, nor do I ever want to be, one of them. I am more concerned with my heart rate than my ‘splits’. I check my blood pressure, not my stopwatch.