Two Ways Middle Age is Subtlely Kicking My Ass

Growing up, and especially in my 30s, I always knew that middle-age was coming. I also knew some of the more obvious ways that I’d know I was getting closer to it. Inevitable or just predictable, I knew that I’d encounter at least some of the following: My hairline (not exactly flattering to begin with) would creep up. My belly (again, never six-packed) would spread a bit more than I’d like. I’d spend fewer nights out on the tiles until dawn, and more evenings at home watching ‘Alf’ reruns. All of these things I expected – so when they started happening I knew that I was no longer approaching middle age, I was there. They were so obvious, so blatant… it was as if Nature had put up a missive billboard on the highway of my life that said ‘Stop kidding yourself.’

Unbeknownst to me, though, dear, sweet Mother Nature has also been putting up smaller signs, too – reminding me of my mortality in more subtle ways, just in case I missed that great big billboard. I've finally seen those less obvious hints, and there are at least two areas in which I'm now aware of my advancing maturity.

Music

Music may seem like an obvious one. But this isn’t music in the ‘I don’t understand how kids can listen to that crap’ kind of way. This is ‘modern music makes me react differently than it probably should.’ And it’s not that I’m not identifying with this music – I quite like some of the stuff in the charts – it’s that I don’t think I hear what some current artists want me to hear when I listen to their songs. For example, when I hear Eminem and L’il Wayne’s new song ‘No Love’, I’m sure they WANT me to think of tough, urban kids growing up and making it through some incredibly challenging times.  What I actually think of is this:

Sport

I still consider myself decently active. I am getting back into going to the gym regularly, and I still play fully-kitted American football against guys who are (literally) half my age. I’ve got two Defensive MVPs under my (expanding) belt this season, and have been reasonably happy with my game so far. Having said that – I expect to be hurting more and for longer now than I did when I played in my teens, 20s or even 30s. Approaching (and going past) 40, I knew I’d be a bit slower on the field and a bit quicker to feel injury. So I’m not at all surprised that all of those things are now true. But yesterday I played a round of golf in a collared shirt and chinos. The fact that I’m playing golf at all should have sent up all kinds of red flags about my impending retirement, but when you couple that with the fact that was in goddamned CHINOS and a polo shirt?? You might as well pass me the Ovaltine, because it’s 230 in the afternoon and time for bed. Chi-fucking-nos. The worst bit? I had brought shorts and a t-shirt to change into after work, and I CHOSE NOT TO. Woe. Is. Me.