George Bernard Shaw:  “What is life but a series of inspired follies? The difficulty is to find them to do. Never lose a chance: it doesn’t come every day.”

Casey Stengel:  “There comes a time in every man’s life and I’ve had many of them.”

Mick Jagger:  “It’s all right letting yourself go as long as you can let yourself back.”

Sorry all you Malden Yacht Club fans, but this post is about me. Why? Well, other than the obvious answer “why not,” the reason is a noble one. I’m trying to drum up more viewers so our ratings go up. If the Malden Yacht Club Blog starts getting hundreds of thousands of hits, we can sell advertising, and then spend the rest of our days trying to think of how to spend all that money. But first we have to attract all those viewers. As I see it, there are three prime subjects that could entice readers to a blog. Unfortunately, my brand of humor hasn’t done the trick, and Mrs. Ol’ P will not let me try Tiger’s tricks to tantalize and scandalize, then evangelize the Malden Yacht Club. So that leaves me with the final basic bastion of blog-building bull-spit … and that would be angst. Or, as a worn down and fatigued Dave Matthews might sing at the end of his concert season, it’s time to observe the “Angst Marching.”

Some of you folks may be wondering how a guy as cheerful and crotchety as me can possibly know anything about angst. After all, am I not the founder of the “60 is the new 16” movement? [Note: Let me digress a bit here, folks. As far as I know, I am not only the founder of the “60 is the new 16” movement, I am also the only practitioner. Does that make sense to anyone? Think about it: imagine being 16 again, with the same type of limitless energy and dopey way of viewing things you had at that age, and once more being armed with the uncanny knack of appearing incredibly humorous, irreverent, and endearing all at the same time. Only now, you’re actually 60, you have some money in your pocket, homework and tests (despite the dreams you still have) are no longer in the picture, and no one is nagging you about your future … because you don’t have a future! All you have is one glorious, seemingly never-ending, present which, if you’re lucky, will be like the movie “Groundhog Day” … only without an annoying Bill Murray and an even more annoying groundhog. Come on, people! This notion has to catch on!] Now where was I?

If I Was 16, I Would Find This Development, Like, You Know, Totally Hilarious

Oh yeah, what could the Ol’ P possibly know about angst? After all, I’m a blogger not a blues singer, and who ever heard of a blogger singing the blues? By and large, that premise is true, and bloggers are a pretty resilient group. Still, there are times when clouds darken the keyboard, and since we are not at the mini-park to cry in our beers, we are moved to emote remotely. This is one of those times … it is also a time for a confession … the Ol’ Philosophizer suffers from DBD … Disquieting Birthaversary Distress. Fortunately, it’s a mild case, and not all anniversaries or birthdays trigger the anguish. Only certain milestones … like the one approaching this coming fall.

I first noticed this syndrome when I reached the age of twenty-five. Here I was, less that a decade removed from the glories that arrived with birthday number sixteen, and the exaltation had worn off already. Even worse, I realized that I was moving away from that state of perfection at a rapidly accelerating pace. But the worst of all was the suspicion that I might have already zipped through a third (definitely a quarter) of my life, and I had not been in what I would consider “good physical shape” one day of it. It’s not that I hadn’t been active; it was just that I couldn’t be active for very long without feeling like I was breathing through a paper bag while carrying a safe on my back. On that particular day, I didn’t feel very enthusiastic about the future.

Wow, Twenty-Five Years Go By Really Quick When You’re As Active As I Am

Call it an epiphany, call it a turning point, or call it anything you want, but it was after that birthday that I started running and regular weight training. And except for sporadic downtime due to injuries or operations, I have continued those activities ever since … for almost 40 years. In retrospect, that episode of DBD may have been beneficial, but the next one most assuredly was not. That one occurred ten years later. You see, I like to use numbers to convince myself to believe what I really want to believe, whether or not that particular belief is grounded in any type of fact. So, while practicing healthy habits for ten years, I devised the following mathematical proof:

A.  There are three stages of life: young, middle age, and old
B.  With my present healthy habits, I can live to be 105
C.  Therefore, I can claim to be young (and by extension lazy and irresponsible) until I’m thirty-five.

Maybe I Can Find A Formula To Prove That Beer And Donuts Are As Nutritious As Broccoli And Spinach

It should be obvious to all why my 35th birthday bothered me. I could no longer deny that I was an adult. I might even have to start acting like one. I didn’t handle this birthaversary as well as the one ten years earlier. In fact, my mileage and weight routines all dropped off significantly, facts that were evidenced by poorer racing performances. Poor, poor, Not-So Young P … However, once that dreaded year was over, I rebounded nicely, running more and more miles, and posting lower and lower times. At least for a while, until my body started it’s inevitable slowing, like Mrs. Ol’ P’s grandfather clock as it also winds down. But that diminishing has been physical, not mental, so I’ve been okay with that.

Which brings me to the present. My third DBD is on the horizon, and it is important that I learn from the last two. This year is what I will euphemistically refer to as my “Medicare year” … and even the Ol’ Philosophizer will not deny that you can’t hit that birthday without acknowledging that you might be just a tiny bit ol’. Still, it seems to me that this is just the type of event that requires bold, preemptive action. Why wait until after the event, like I did at 25, or do nothing at all, as at number 35. No sir, I’m going hit this birthday at full speed, and hopefully blow right by it in a display of youthful enthusiasm. That’s the plan, folks, and there has only been one lingering question. Just how am I going to do this?

Serendipity and the Malden Yacht Club have provided the answers. The first stroke of luck came when I received a notice that there would be a 5K race on the very course where I started training for races all those years ago. Although I am woefully out of shape for any serious running, the fact that the race is a mere 3 miles (plus a small amount of crawling and lurching near the end) made me examine the notice closer. Hmm, the race was exactly 10 weeks away. Folks, did I mention how I like to use numbers to convince myself that a belief is justifiable? With ten weeks to work with, I could devise a plan that would allow me to complete ten percent of it every week! Why in five weeks, I could finish half the plan. Every Sunday I would get to cross off one more tenth! If the race didn’t appeal to me, the numbers sure did. I would have to enter this race. The worst case scenario was that it would be a symbolic last race on the course where my career as a racer began. But would this be enough to prevent a DBD wedgie? Probably not.

Like Walter Mitty And The Everly Brothers, The Ol‘ Philosophizer Is A Dedicated Dreamer

This is where the Malden Yacht Club comes in. It seemed logical to me that if I was going to consider running a race, even though my knees, hamstrings, and Achilles tendons have been shot for several decades, then I really ought to consider kayak racing. I’ve only been kayaking for a dozen years, and I haven’t even started to wear out my shoulders, elbows and wrists yet. Heck, maybe it’s time to equalize de tissue deterioration. So I contacted several of the more unbalanced MYC members about forming a Malden Yacht Club Racing Team, and both Madman and Splash responded favorably. Once we start going on road trips to away games, I see this concept taking off like a rocket ship, or a Bullwinkle paddling, whichever you think is faster. Hey, I even see team uniforms and cheerleaders in our future! Naturally, I’m enthused about this venture and the prospect of filing Race Reports on the blog … but I still wasn’t sure that this was enough to allow me to cast off the Momentous Medicare Milestone Millstone. If only I could find something more … you know … Malden Yacht Club-like.

As “Honorary” Team Captain, I Volunteer To Recruit The Cheerleaders …

Then I Will Organize Road Trips Complete With Gourmet Dining …

Followed By Wild Parties With Our Feverishly Fervid Racing Fans … What A Plan!

This is where both serendipity and the Malden Yacht Club combined to solve the problem. This week, I had a scheduled therapeutic session with the MYC’s Fingers of Steel, Misty. She could hardly contain herself as she told me that the Warrior Dash Northeast  would be held a mere 25 miles from where I reside. Okay, I thought, that’s nice, but what’s so special about this event? The right question should have been “what isn’t special” about this event. Let me simply explain the highlights … there is beer involved … the race is up and down a mountain … you have to climb over obstacles … there is beer involved … you have to crawl through mud, under barbed wire … there is beer involved … you have to run through fire … you get to wear a Viking hat complete with horns … there is beer involved … you have to run across planks and down streams … you have to slog through a blog bog … and there is beer involved. Hmm, this is a possibility, but I really needed a sign that this event was the event to help me blast by that odious 65th birthday. Again it was time for the serendipity. The day I learned about this event was exactly 6.5 months from the event, and the entry fee is $65. And there is beer involved! So I think I’m going to try this, and I would love to see other Malden Yacht Clubbers do it with me …  just as long as the Dave Mathews song that best represents out efforts on the obstacle course isn’t “Crash Into Me.”

Hey, Participating In The Warrior Dash Isn’t The Worst Idea We Ever Had