Seventy-Five Years Old

Turning forty was memorable; the thing I remember most about it was asking Martha to promise not to place an embarrassing photo of me as a young boy in the local newspaper with the caption, “Lordy lordy, look who’s forty,” which was a popular thing to do at the time in Highlands.  Fifty was an even more significant milestone, and so was sixty.  I remember my sixtieth because Martha organized a surprise birthday party for me (and it really was a surprise) at Sapphire Mountain Brewing Company, attended by many of our friends.  It also marked my retirement from the Town of Highlands and the beginning of a short but rewarding second career as a Real Estate Broker for both of us.

Seventy-five was even more of a significant landmark – three-quarters of a century! – and we celebrated it quietly here in Atlantic Beach, just the two of us.  500 miles is a long way to ask someone, even a close friend, to drive for a birthday, and I was happy to spend it here, rather than in Highlands in cold February weather.  In fact, I have celebrated eight or nine birthdays here, often pursuing very special adventures.  One year we took the ferry to Cape Lookout, for example, and wandered across the sand dunes until we found the herd of wild horses that live there.  And one year we drove to Duck and had a nostalgic visit to a place where we used to spend a lot of time.

I try to spend my birthdays doing a little bit of everything that I enjoy the most, so of course running was at the top of the list for Highlands Roadrunner, and I had planned on a long run for this morning.  But the weather was not cooperating, so I re-scheduled the long run for Saturday and went to the Sport Center to lift weights instead.  On the way, I passed a brave young woman running on the sidewalk on Bridges Street wearing a light rain jacket and splashing through puddles, and I wondered if I was just becoming too much of a wimp with age:  I used to do that! I thought.  Miraculously, the rain had let up almost completely when I arrived at the Sport Center, so I parked, put on my hat, and started running in the neighborhood, up and down streets.  It was only a mile but it was a run on the occasion of my seventy-fifth birthday, and it even started raining again toward the end so that I was cold and wet and exhilarated and happy.

When I returned, I played my keyboard for awhile and worked on some poetry.  Running, exercise, music, poetry – a good way to celebrate a milestone.  And, while most people would think it the most boring thing to do on such an occasion as this, I asked Martha if she would play a game of Scrabble with me (but only on the condition that she not deliberately lose).  She did lose, just barely, and not (I think) deliberately but because of unlucky letters.  We were just in time for a glass of rosé prosecco that we had saved from our New Year’s Eve dinner at Shelton Vineyards (see post of December 31) nearly two months ago.  There were some thoughtful gifts from Martha – running socks, and a very unusual and special gift, $75 worth of dahlia tubers, which will be delivered this spring.  And then we drove the short distance to our favorite restaurant out here, Amos Mosquito, where we had celebrated Valentine’s Day last week. 

Fresh tuna, scallops, and shrimp – delicious!  And for dessert, we enjoyed a complimentary birthday treat, an Amos Mosquito specialty:  ‘Smores, with marshmallows roasted over our own "campfire" (adult supervision required).

My long run the next morning – seven miles – was a bit of a struggle (not many carbs in tuna or marshmallows), but very satisfying to complete on the first day of being a seventy-five-year-old runner.  That run brought my annual mileage thus far in 2024 (of course) to 75 miles. 

Martha had posted on the whiteboard early in the week:   Happy Birthday – seventy-five years young and still going strong.  And then she asked me if I felt like I was seventy-five years old, and I told her I did not.  There has been a gradual decline, of course, in race times and distances, which a record-keeping runner like myself cannot fail to notice.  But as I have said before in this blog, I am not the runner I once was; I am the runner I am right now!  And I am thankful for it.