Being Fit at Fifty? Or Having a Fit at Fifty?
This afternoon, when I finished running, I did my usual sets of push ups and dips using the park bench as an exercise apparatus.
As I did these exercises, I noticed an older Russian man, sitting on an adjacent bench, watching me.
I’m fairly fit these days, and at this point I can grind out dozens of push-ups, and the man watched me intently as I completed my final set of 60 well-formed, push-ups.
When I finished, he stood up from his bench and faced me, and started sincerely clapping a slow clap of congratulations as he shouted some sort of Russian phrase of approval, and then he gave me a thumbs up.
I left the park feeling pretty good about myself and that I was fighting the good fight, and winning against my advancing age as I approach my fiftieth birthday next week.
Then, when I got back to my apartment building, I ran into a Russian woman (there are ALOT of Russians in my neighborhood) who I see often. She is very trim, attractive, and fashionable and looks great for her age which I estimated to be a similar age to mine. We exchanged greetings and she took note of my work out clothes and said, “So, you were jogging?”, and I said, “Yes, I’m trying to fight against getting older” and then I added that I was turning fifty in a week.
When I said that, a surprised look came over her face, and she responded, “You’re ONLY 50?!”
She obviously always thought I was much older.
I didn’t feel so great after that.