The Numbers Game

 

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I turn 49 in a couple of months. It’s a little hard for me to believe. My maternal grandfather was 49 when he died. It happened a long time before I was born. He died tragically, of burns recieved fighting a grassfire near Wangaratta in Victoria.  At 49. I always realised it was way too young to die, especially as he had a young family but it seemed to the adolecsent me that you could at least say you had lived, achieved, been happy with yourself and who you are at 49 and in many ways I am. But, I really seem to have appeared here suddenly, much faster than I had planned to, sliding into middle age and arriving with a thud and shake, wondering how the hell I got here so quickly.

The funny thing about it is that I don’t feel any different now to what I did 20 years ago. In fact, in many ways I feel better than I did when I was 28. More mature perhaps, a little more knowledgable about life and I actually feel healthier, although I realise my physical capabilities will certainly have waned with time. I’m a little fatter. I have a thinning hairline. The grey is starting to infiltrate my pate and I have a bald patch. We can’t fight it off forever.

I was out on my bike today and I was feeling pretty good, pushing a bigger gear than usual as my fitness has increased, and it struck me cold that I could never be physically as good as what I was when I raced pushbikes in the early 1990’s. It made me a little sad to think that I could never now achieve what I could back then but of course time waits for no man and I am content in most things concerning my life.

The responsibility that comes with acting your age probably struck me a few years ago when I was having a hit of social tennis with the husband and boyfriend (now husband) of two of my stepdaughters. We were playing doubles and I was partnered with Tristan, the youngest of the foursome and a grand fellow whilst my other stepdaughter’s husband partnered his friend. Now these three young men in their twenties are a very pleasant group, personable, friendly, a credit to their generation. But of course they are young men and the match soon took on some of the intensity of a Wimbledon Doubles Final. Now, I’m as competitive as the next bloke and don’t like to lose and have been known over the years to “do a Kygrios” and throw a game to avoid the heartache of a gallant yet crushing close defeat. Tristan was heavily into the match and few barbs were flying backwards and forwards over the net along with tennis balls and things were getting a bit heated. Now my temperament in such a situation was at one time suspect and I may have descended into a bit of name-calling and overt anger in the attempt to secure victory but it suddenly struck me that I needed to be a more calming force in this situation. Maturity had at last rapt his comfortable hand around me and I attempted to council my partner, urging him not worry as it was only a game, trying as hard as I could to be a admirable, older, influential male figure. Tensions were cooled but we lost the match and I could have smashed the racquet into a million pieces but hey, I’ve grown up and wished everyone well and congratulated our worthy conqueror’s.  I would rather have pulled my tongue over my head.  So, with age comes a bit of a requirement to occasionally pretend you are a figure to be respected.

So, 49? I guess it ain’t so bad.  It just alarming how quick time flies. It won’t be long before I am barreling headlong towards 50! Nothing to do now than to sit back and enjoy the ride and hope I can squeeze the last juices out of my youth and put them to good use.

Until next time.