Lately I have been thinking a lot about aging. I will turn
50 this August. When I signed up for the 2014 Chicago Marathon last week I
selected, for the very first time, the age category of 50-54. I now can look at
my runner’s profile for Chicago and witness, in black and white, that Rachel
Pratt is (or very soon will be) a fifty year old female.
One of the most interesting and objective elements I ponder right now is the potential impact of aging on my running speed. I began racing at age 44. Many say that it takes ten years from the beginning to fully mature as a runner and that speed will continue to increase during those ten years. Because of my late start, however, I am also entering a time when age begins to naturally slow down runners. In the past twelve months I have set new personal records in the half marathon (twice) and marathon distances and, while I am far from the fastest runner, I don’t yet have any proof that slowing down is in the cards for me. This feels age-defying and for that I am grateful.
And indeed, mostly I am grateful for good genes and luck and the
self-care that has landed me pretty gently into the upper middle of my life. Some
days, however, a melancholy sets in about parts of my life that are in the past,
unrecoverable choices, the different nature of future adventures, and the reduced
elasticity of my skin. I cannot seem to glide smoothly or without some somber reflection into fifty.
To combat the blues I have been feeling, I’m taking stock of
my situation, booking future adventures, and trying to maintain perspective and
a sense of humor.
Taking stock, I have happy and healthy children, a husband
who loves me, a good job, great friends, a lovely home in Brooklyn, a family house on a lake, a school I adore for our youngest children and a very bright future career for our oldest, and I am
strong and fit and finally learning how to race.
For adventures, I have already planned a long run through the
hills of Pennsylvania on my birthday morning. Not yet sure what the rest of the day, in the middle of a holiday weekend, holds. In addition to the Chicago
Marathon, I plan to run back to back Boston and Big Sur marathons the following
spring. I have begun looking for challenging trail races. And I may even throw a triathlon into the mix. Non-race travel is part of the plan, too—it has been
far too long since I last spent time in Europe and am half a lifetime overdue
for Asia or Australia or South America. Fifty might be the year I begin writing a
book.
Humor and perspective is the hardest part most days. But there are some shining laugh out loud moments, like this one, that assure me that all is and will continue to be well. A couple of weeks ago I was chatting with with my cousin and running buddy Scott, lamenting the aging
process and extracting promises of many years of shared runs. Scott’s reply, the
perfect antidote to my whining and all the perspective I require: “You can hold my teeth at the water station.”
