I'm officially old, and other assorted thoughts

Hello Everyone, I kinda feel like I’ve been announcing that I’m officially old for a number of years now, and every time I look back and think: “You naïve, foolish youngster. That wasn’t old. This time it’s real, though. This is what it means to be old.” It happened when I realized I didn’t like cheap beer directly from a keg anymore, when I downloaded a James Taylor album, on purpose, and now, after a 24 hour race this past weekend, I am again, officially old. But I’m pretty sure the worst of it is upon me this time, at the advanced age of 39. Can’t imagine things getting worse from here… I’m old because I have to start taking care of myself. The advantage of youth is not having to care about your physical health much. Got practice Saturday morning but want to go out with your friends Friday night? No problem, a couple of hours of sleep, and you’re good to go. Injury? No worries, just ignore it for a bit and it’ll go away. Reading glasses? What are those? This past weekend was the fourth time I participated in the 24 hour mountain bike race north of Toronto. It’s actually the fifth iteration of our team, the Craft Beer Crushers, but I was away last year. Over the past five years, I’ve noticed that roughing it in a tent and crushing a can of beer after every lap has become harder and harder. I can’t just ignore the fact that I’m not sleeping well. I can’t shrug off the aches as easily. I’ve come to the depressing conclusion that maybe I should bring a pillow. And maybe try to get a more comfortable sleeping surface. And like, a decent sleeping bag or something for the cold. And why are these dang kids on my yard again! Pain is relative It got cold at night while we were at the race. And when my night lap came up, I had to get out of my warm clothes and put on my cold, wet racing gear, and bike down to the start line. I was shivering, hungry even though I’d eaten, and overall just miserable. And yet I come back to hear stories about how my nephew, who as far as I can tell is make up of little more than skin, bone and attitude, went swimming in a frigid lake over the weekend, and emerged from the water even colder and hungrier than I had been but not at all miserable. If it wasn’t for the fact he was about to turn into an ice cube, he probably would have jumped back in. By contrast, if he gets a cut, scrape or bruise, it’s a tragedy requiring a field hospital’s stock of bandages. It’s not that he’s not tough, it’s just that the shock of the injury has a big impact on him, whereas I think the adventure of swimming outweighs the discomfort of being cold. At this point in my life, cuts and scrape barely register, and I discover random bruises and wonder where they came from, but it takes a bit more adventure to outweigh the discomfort of being cold. Another depressing thought. Living in the city makes you an asshole I slapped the trunk of a car the other day. It made a satisfying thud, but didn’t damage anything. I hope it startled the driver though. The car had cut into the bike lane to stop and let a passenger out, blocking the flow of traffic for a bunch of us cyclists. It may seem like a small thing, “I’ll just pull over here and let the person out. Can’t pull over anywhere else, there’s cars everywhere” kind of thing. But the bike lane isn’t some magical extra space cars get to use when they need it. Pulling in there forces cyclists to swerve into traffic and endanger their lives or hop onto the sidewalk and endanger someone else’s. I’ve never been an aggressive type before, but living in the city forces it upon you. Eat or be eaten. Wes

Pictures: The first is from the race this past weekend. I’m in a remarkably better mood in the photo than I was exactly 12 hours before. 

The second is a shot from just a regular Wednesday for me. You know, just hangin’ with the crew, no big deal.