Reflections on turning 40?
Not just a waste of cake and paper.
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I turned 40 today. At 11:44 am Eastern Time to be specific (40 years and 31 minutes ago at the time of publication, to be exact). While I usually subscribe to Patton Oswalt's philosophy that birthdays, as we age, are "just a waste of cake and paper", I hold onto an exception for milestone birthdays - like turning 40.
40 is an odd age (as someone who majored in math, I can confidently say that I know that it's an even age, but stay with me). One is not yet old when he turns 40. He can still keep up with people half his age if he plays his cards right and uses his accumulated wisdom. I can't keep up with younger, fitter runners in my Sunday group run if I don't eat right(ish), abstain from alcohol (more on that in a future post) or go to sleep before my kids (true story). But if all those things are in my favor? Game on.
At the same time, 40 isn't young either. One has accumulated - nay - earned responsibilities. Kids to nurture, a partner on whom to dote, a career that is approaching middle-age - just as he heads towards it himself. One likely has friends and colleagues with grand kids, and friends and spouses who are still grand kids themselves. As I said, 40 is odd. It's sort of like the third (there's my odd number!) bear in Goldilocks, not too hot/young, not too cold/old. Just right.
But this isn't about turning 40 (perhaps you'll get that from my fellow project kathekonian (is that a word?) next month). It's about what happened when I started my last decade. I entered my thirties like many: a year into marriage, punching above my weight at work, living in Park Slope in an apartment with more outdoor than indoor space (and a hammock - a fucking hammock - in Brooklyn), expecting our first child. One could have used the word "healthy" to describe many aspects of my life. That is, except for my health.
I was pushing 250 pounds, struggling to fit into that 46L jacket as I hit 30 and a half (that picture is from my wife's 30th - we're exactly 6 months apart). My triglycerides were far from normal. And my blood pressure? The jury was undecided as to whether it was weight- or stress-related but it didn't matter. I wasn't doing jack-shit to address the cause(s). I was someone who thought he could still eat and drink (and drink) like a guy in his early twenties but was sadly misinformed.
The thing is, at the time, I didn't feel fat. I carried my weight pretty evenly. Sure my waistline was pushing 40, but dammit, I could still run like I did in high school, right? Who the fuck was I kidding - I looked like I had eaten my younger self.
At the same time, my wife and I decided to do what any intelligent new parents-to-be should do: seek out a change of scenery. We picked up sticks, and headed west to California. It was August 2011, our daughter not even a month old in our lap, our cat Arby ("I had the roast beef." - David Puddy) under our seat, when we took one of the last flights out of JFK to LAX before Hurricane Irene shut down the airport and devastated the northeast.
We completely severed any support systems we had built in New York that humans, let alone parents, should cherish. We said goodbye to my parents, our newborn daughter's grandparents, who lived just 70 miles up the Boston Post Road in Connecticut, and headed 2,800 miles away to Pasadena. After touching down at LAX, we headed to our sight-unseen apartment in California with our 4-week old, who after not making a peep the entire flight, decided to start wailing, and Arby, who, after spending 6 hours in a carrier, decided to relieve herself just as we were heading down the Arroyo Seco Parkway a few miles from our new home. You could say it was a bit of an omen for what could have turned out to be one of the dumbest decisions we could have made. You'd be (mostly) wrong.
We started settling into our new environs. Making new friends. Exploring Southern California in our newly leased Golf TDI (how I miss that stick shift). Swimming in the complex pool as the sun set. Walking to the original Trader Joe's or down Colorado with views of the mountains - our first-born in the Baby Bjorn. Drinking a fresh, local double IPA at the Whole Foods. Working remotely, mostly East Coast hours. Keeping in touch with friends back east. Being new parents. Being a dad. And then it hit me: will I be there for my daughter, of sound mind and sound body, as she grows up?
I thought back to my own childhood. My dad chasing after us playing "Monster" with the neighborhood kids. My mom taking me and my brother to Burger King for Whooper Jr.s before soccer practice after school. My dad playing football in the side yard with us. My mom calming me down after crying as I turned 4 because someone had shoved his hand in my Cookie Monster birthday cake. My dad singing Christmas songs to help me fall asleep (every night, without question). Sure, I'd be able to provide financially for her, but what about truly “being there” my daughter?
So I started running. Down to the corner. Around the block. A mile out, a mile back. The warm air hitting my face; the scents of the flora filling my nose. A bit of knee pain was solved with a dollar store brace (and prevented a gash from requiring more than a few stitches the following May - more on that later). And then an email came in:
From: Brandon G.
Date: November 15, 2011
Subject: Tough Mudder VT 5/5/2012
Hey Everyone,
Though this seems shockingly early - The VT race is 2/3 sold out and our house has been rented already! The guy we rented the house from last year has 2 houses left, one that sleeps 16 or so and one that sleeps 22 or so and I need to tell him which, if either, we want by the end of this week!
I started a team for the Saturday race. The team name is "Los Perros Grande".
Sorry to bring this all up 6 months in advance - but unfortunately it's now or never on one of these awesome houses.
Give me a buzz or email if you've got any questions.
Brandon
"Nothing great was ever accomplished without enthusiasm." R.W. Emerson
There were a number of things that drew me in. First, a challenge, and one I wouldn't have been able to do the next day, but with time, perhaps it could be possible. Second, the sense of community that was being teased in the email. I had heard stories from the prior year's event and I wanted in. Third, when you combine a challenge with community you get accountability. By signing up, and committing that to others, I was guaranteeing that I would show up (plus I can be cheap - paying the entry fee meant I wasn't backing out). But it was the last line that got me:
"Nothing great was ever accomplished without enthusiasm." R.W. Emerson
So despite having just a few recent runs under my belt, my response went across:
It's official. I'm signed up. So pumped!
Training started in earnest the next day. I added in some push-ups at the mile mark, then the half mile mark. I extended my runs around Pasadena - 4 miles, 5 miles, a 10k. I remember the first time I found the trails along the Los Angeles river that brought me to the Rose Bowl and couldn't believe this was where I lived. They say that scent is the best way to bring back memories but a close second is exercise. The rush of endorphins brought back those halcyon high school track and cross country running days just like a whiff of yellow cake and icing brought me back to that fourth birthday party sadness.
And then I noticed my clothes were getting bigger on me. The scale started going in the right direction: 240, 230, 220. By the time I landed back east a few days ahead of the event to scope out a few apartments in the city (again, another story for another day), I was down to 212. I was ready to compete. I was 1/10 of the way through my 30’s and if the story ended there, I would have considered it a success. Yet it didn't end there. But more on that later.
Now it’s your turn.
First, let us know what you think. This project is for you as much as it is for us. So tell us in the comments; drop us an email; send it to a friend; delete and ignore. The choice is yours.
Second, we’d love to hear your experiences. When did the right combination of a challenge, community and accountability give you the kick in the ass to consider making some changes? How did you do? To whom are you indebted? We’re listening.
Good stuff Jeremy. I know you from Strava and I really enjoyed reading this. I went through a similar epiphany in my early 40s and eventually ran a 19:20 5K and a 3:22 marathon. Fortunately, I never completely let myself go again, but as I approach 50, I am not nearly that fast anymore. You nailed it when your wrote about fitness in your early 40s. Thanks for sharing. I also enjoyed what your wrote about your streak.
40, you’re still a young buck! “Do not go where the path leads, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” -RWE