Area 51

In my first blog as a 51-year-old, I've decided to write about the advantages of becoming an age-encrusted coot. A fossil. A bag of bones. A relic. One thing that occurrs to me immediately is that there are many colorful nicknames for the condition. Another advantage, for me anyway, is that with each passing year, I get closer to the Shit Hat. Years ago, my wife and I were at Lake Elsinore, and there, wandering the streets of the local village, was an ancient, creaky old soul, and on his head was a distinctive baseball cap. This cap was topped with a load of fake shit, and under the fake shit were the words "Shit Head." My wife vowed that when I reached that age, she would get me my own Shit Hat. Size 7 1/4, please.

Now, as regards chasing one's Dunk Dream, there are three main advantages. If you train with Gil Thomas, as I do, you typically end up working out with people who are much younger. Much younger. Twenty-five to thirty years younger. Therefore, it's perfectly okay if, in exercise after exercise, you bring up the rear. In fact, it's expected. If you can do what they do, even if it takes you longer to do it, you still win. No need to be the first one to the top of the hill--take your time. Simply making it there will suffice. Reduced expectations -- don't denounce them as youthful condescension. Embrace them. Make them work for you.

Which brings me to the next advantage. The trainer will often use your age as a bludgeon against the youngsters. "What do you mean you can't do 30 squats? Mike did them, and HE'S FIFTY!" Your performance becomes the low bar that the youngsters dare not trip over. There is no greater shame than being beaten by The Antique.

Another thing--age makes one's achievements more remarkable. If a 20-year old busts his ass for six months and finally dunks--big fucking deal. The world will barely take notice. But if I manage to slam one home for the first time at the ripe old age of 51--I'm going on Oprah!

Finally, with advancing age comes an increased spirituality. The cynic might say that that is merely a case of the old bag of bones fervently kissing up to God to get on His good side before He draws the final curtain. You want God's last impression of you to be a good one so He saves you a space in the up elevator. I don't know. I think the increased spirituality comes from actually experiencing the divide between body and soul. Your body is breaking down, you can feel its agonies. However, that other thing inside you--your spirit, that energy that you perceive as yourself--that remains unchanged. That feels the same. With each passing year, as you feel more acutely the deterioration of the shell, the difference between that and the vitality of the spirit becomes more pronounced. You begin to suspect that, yes, perhaps there is something in me that will live forever.

And then, of course, there's the Shit Hat.