Thirty-Five is the new Fifty

Thursday, 30 September, 2010 is a day I'm sure I will never forget. It is the day I first felt old.

Admittedly, I noticed the slow decline long before. At twenty-five, I became painfully aware that all-nighters could no longer be in my repertoire. In my late twenties, I had to acquire my first orthotics. At thirty, copious alcohol consumption started having a larger affect.

Although I knew all of those were normal, and accepted them as just part of the aging process, I never felt...old.

Until Thursday.

Thursday is the night I play rugby; "Touch", is the more recognized, and accurate, term. It's an opportunity for me to relive those carefree days on the playground and get some exercise in the process - something a sedentary technology professional never gets enough of.

This Thursday was different. And not a good different. A bad different.

The night started badly. We had an average crowd of twelve players, six per side, but most of the regulars had not shown up. We had nine new people. Someone had the bright idea to split up into youth versus wisdom. For the first time in my life, I was on the wisdom team. Ouch!

Things went downhill from there. As the fastest member on the "wisdom" team, I played winger. That puts me on the outside of the formation and my job is to outrun to the outside, or find a quick slant through the inside and run for the score. After a few possession changes, they toss me the ball and I make my run to the outside. Because of all the rain we've had lately, the artificial turf was still wet. When I made a cut to the inside, I slipped and fell to the ground. I felt every bone in my body rattle like carrots in jello. It was like a visit to the chiropractor, only instead of cracking just a few vertebrae, every bone in my body readjusted. It didn't hurt, but it sure made me re-examine my style of play so I didn't repeat the feeling.

The last reminder of my new age bracket occurred before our final break. My team didn't adjust on defense and I was stuck defending a two-on-one situation on the left side of the line. Our opponents exploited it, and the outside player got past me with the ball. This meant I had to take off after him.

In my younger years, this would be no big deal. I once chased down my dog running at a full sprint (granted, he was a terrier, but that's still pretty fast!). This night, it was not to be. I gave chase and found he was traveling at the same speed I was, but I was jogging. I pushed for my second gear - my sprint - but my body had other ideas. On my third stride, my hamstring had enough. I had gained two steps, but he was still one step out of reach, and I had to jog behind him to the end zone. That was also my last play for the night or I would not be walking the next day.

Thirty-five.

I guess it's the new fifty.