So, this morning as I was putting on some make-up, I noticed some fine lines extending out from my eyes. Wrinkles. Crow's feet.
Yeah, yeah, I know that to some extent it's inevitable. I'm in my 30s (no shame!) and, although I wear sunblock every day and a hat when I run, I don't put on sunblock before I run. A lot of it that I've tried runs into my eyes when I sweat, and then it stings.
But this has been one of my fears. For a while, it seemed like every time I opened Runner's World I would see another picture of an older runner holding a baby, likely her granddaughter. Then the caption would say something like, "Mary Smith, 34, holds her 2 year old daughter." Or two runners, one male and youthful, the other female and wizened, with a caption: "John Doe, 38, with his wife Jane, 37"... Running ages women. It's good for your waistline, but not for your wrinkles.
Ahhh! I thought I was still too young for anti-aging creams. And yet...
On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"