This past weekend I ran the Flying Pig 10K. I survived, which is the best I can say.
No. That's not true. I ran most of it and my achilles bothered me very little, even after (bourbon may be key in recovery). I came in 10min slower than my very first 10K but it has kick started me into running again.
But, while down in Cinci I stayed with a very close friend, Jane, and her husband. We always spend Friday night catching up with maybe a drink and Friday I had a small Makers on ice. I was complaining about how old I feel and need to state my age, at which point I forgot how old I was and instead said 56. CLEARLY a lie but it stuck all weekend.
Me: These shoes are really bothering my feet.
Jane: Well, you are 56, so it's to be expected.
Me: I think I'm drunk. I've only had 2 sangrias.
Jane: That's because you're 56 and you can't handle your liquor anymore.
But the main point is this. Her and I went out to lunch after the race. She ordered a beer and got carded. I ordered sangria and did not. At first I was happy about this. I don't have to dig for my ID, which I may have forgotten (it happens). And I'm finally adult enough to not look underage. But then I realized Jane and I are the same age and CLEARLY I look older. Or 56 to be exact. Had I actually had a couple of drinks prior to not getting carded I may have gotten belligerent. Instead, I silently pouted.