What will I be like, when I’m old?

If you follow me, you know I love running. I run a lot, and I run consistently. Every day.

In recent years, I’ve become a very good runner. I’m not elite, of course, but at forty-three years of age, I belong to a tiny fraction of runners whose passion for the sport has led to very respectable results. More importantly, I think I can improve significantly in the years to come.

I have various struggles in my life, but running is not one of them. It’s my refuge. It keeps my mental health intact. Maybe with running, I’m compensating for some of my failures and insecurities — I’m okay admitting it.

When I run, I don’t think about anything. I follow various running accounts on social media, and I can never understand the memes about the thoughts that go through a runner’s head. My mind goes blank when I run.

But there was one exception lately. It happened more than once. I’d be doing some of my harder workouts, like intervals. I’d be in some pain because these workouts are meant to be hard, but I’d also experience this all-encompassing awareness of how strong I am. This feeling is both physical and mental. I’m doing some really badass stuff! I’m as young as ever. In my forties, I’m doing something that’s out of reach to most people, no matter their age.

Occasionally during my easier runs, I’d pass a restaurant and see a very old person dining. Or I’d see someone young helping someone very old and fragile get in or out of the car. Or I’d pass an assisted…