I won’t turn 40 for another twenty-two months. Lots of time between then and now to still pretend that I’m ‘only a few years out of college.’ And time to figure out ‘what I want to do with my life.’ Eventually, however, 40 will come. I’ve decided to dramatically decrease the number of scatological references I use in my every day conversation at that time. It seems undignified somehow for a quatragenarian.*
Many times, I sit at my desk – smelling Cube Farters intestinally emitted Arby’s residue – and wonder what I’ll do with myself When I Grow Up. I have a perfectly grown-up job that pays the mortgage and keeps my weekends soaked in beer. However, I can’t say that I expected to spend my days mentally categorizing the sound, smell, and, yes, taste of a middle aged man’s mid afternoon gaseous excretions from a distance of eight feet. I majored in Economics for chrissakes (though, to be fair, my minor was Bung Expellents.)
From a career perspective, I might still be holding my nose, both literally and figuratively, and performing the demanded tasks. From a running perspective, my goals and path have never been clearer. I know exactly where I want to go. And how fast I want to get there.
Besides the SOS2 goals and the BQ pursuits and the marathons, I’m looking forward to the summer of 2011. I’ll be 40. I’ll qualify to pursue the USATF Masters All American road running certification administered by the National Master News publication. Why is that important I ask myself rhetorically? It isn’t. Except there is a chart full of numbers that says You Did Something That Some Person Somewhere Decided Was Significant In Some Way. And I really, really love the word Some (apparently.)
The USATF has issued guidelines for runners – men and women – in five year age groups from 5 km to marathon distance. If you can meet that standard in a documented event, you are a USATF certified Master. Judging by my love affair – and pursuit - with the BQ standard, it’s not so much of a stretch to see how this would appeal to me, right? I love trying to obtain a goal that Someone I Don’t Know has set. (Too bad I don’t also have the same drive when trying to meet Someone I Do Knows goals – my boss – or maybe I wouldn’t have a thick, slowly evaporating cloud of spicy curly fry odor strained through roughly 23 feet of a man’s small intestines hovering around my head right now.) I’m pretty sure that, if you hung a tennis ball on a string 30 feet over my driveway and told me that other folks my age have been able to jump up and grab it, you’d see me out there every day arms extended practicing my leap.
As I look over the standards, I’m fully capable of meeting each and every one of them right now. But I’m 38. There’s still nearly two years of knee synovial fluid degeneration. There’s still a few thousand miles to run. There’s still time for…get those damn kids off my lawn I’M KEEPING YOUR BALL YOU LITTLE PUNKS….
Sorry, where was I?
If you are over 40, you might want to check these standards out for yourself to see if you can gain certification from Somebody. If I can just maintain my speed over the next two years, obtaining the USATF Masters certification will be easier than complaining about Kids These Days. 2011 should be fun!
I hope that makes Someone happy.
Now, where are my shorts and wing tipped shoes, I need to cut the lawn...
* But perfectly acceptable for a trigenarian so you’ll still see plenty of references to fecally related topics sprinkled liberally here over the next 22 months. Don’t worry.
My filly's 2-0 soccer team record became 2-1 last night after a 10-4 beat down. My filly? Four goals. I guess it should have been eleven then, shouldn't it? No dinner for her.