Looking at 60...From 58

Here comes Sixty...

No, I'm not sixty...yet, but I feel like Sally Albright.

In the movie "When Harry Met Sally" she breaks down in a long Kleenex-filled crying jag about not being married. And finally it peaks when she comes clean with the revelation that her problem is...she's going to be forty!

"When?" Harry asks.

"Someday"

"In eight years," Harry reminds her.

"But it's there! It's like a big dead end!

Milestone birthdays are mostly mental, but somehow my body seems to have gotten the memo before I did.

This past year was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of snowbirds, it was the age of morning back pain, it was the epoch of qualifying for the 55 and over tennis tournaments, it was the epoch of knee braces, it was the season of sunscreen, it was the season of statins, it was the spring of selling Marketresearch.com, it was the winter of Dry January.

Here is a fun sampling of the comments and questions I received in last 365 days:

    - After a an x-ray the doctor told me "You have normal deterioration for a man your age."

    - At a recent physical therapy session I was asked: "What color did your hair used to be?"

    - Upon learning my age one "youngish" person said: "I didn't think you were that old?" And they were being nice!

    - I used to think plaque was something on my teeth, not my heart valves. The doctor recommended statins. "How long should I take them?" "Forever," he replied with a straight face.

I should have seen this coming. After a haircut my smock looks like I was caught in a small snow squall. 

Isn't it always the pictures that tell us the story we don't tell ourselves. Those moments you get a glimpse into how the rest of the world sees you, physically. 

Forty was supposed to be the big one, but I barely noticed it. The kids were 9, 7 and 5 and it was less mid-life crisis-y than I'd been told.

But turning sixty is different. I've been to lots of 60th birthday parties, and one thing I've heard in the toasts and roasts is it does something to the system. It focuses the mind.

"Intentionality," one friend said. "It makes you think, What am I doing? How am I spending my time?"

Other observations from this year:

    Parts are past their warranty: More friends had pieces and parts removed and re-placed: ACL, shoulders, rotator cuffs, knees and hips. 

    Less drinking (some of you): When the cocktail menu comes, there's a lot more, "Oh, just a glass of wine," and a surprising amount of Michelob Ultra.

    Attire: Friends come outside with floppy hats and enough sunscreen to make them look like Jason from Halloween.

    Equipment: They prepare for golf and tennis like gladiators entering the arena—knee and elbow braces, ankle wraps, and an entire CVS worth of kinesiology tape.

I've been recommended or gifted no less than 10 times the book Outlive: the Science and Art of Longevity.

What else do I hear from my fellow Generation X'ers: We're no longer the kid in the room. That there was a time, only moments ago, when we were the youngest person in the board meeting and somehow that slipped out from under us.

While jolting, in many ways it's Clarifying.

In writing a short story an ending is supposed to be "surprising, but inevitable."

Sixty is no dead end, and fifty-eight is an opportunity.

These changes are surprising, but also inevitable.

Hometown Jersey

Friends called and said, “Well, you can’t lose…”

Really?

The team I grew up with, rooted for and watched go on an unprecedented losing streak, had a chance to make it to the Super Bowl. But in their way was the team of my adopted hometown. The team my children love and who are the best story of this NFL season.

I’ve lived in Washington for 35 years, I lived in Detroit for 20.

Which one means more?

Seinfeld does a bit about loyalty to a sports team, which he says is hard to justify these days because the players, coaches and owners keep changing. Teams leave town.

“You’re actually rooting for the clothes” he jokes. “You are standing and yelling and cheering for your clothes to beat the clothes from another city.”

It goes a bit deeper.

The schedule and the stars aligned for the Detroit Lions and the Washington Commanders to meet in the D (Detroit). And as the game approached my adult children shunned me when I said I would be wearing a Lions hat.

With the Premier League in the UK there is no question, you cheer based on lineage. Your family history is rooted in your father's favorite team and therefore you root for your father’s team…forever. Full stop! It’s generational and doesn’t matter where you live or how far you’ve moved, you follow that tradition like it’s religion. Because it is.

So I headed to Detroit, feeling like a traitor wearing my Commanders sweatshirt, getting dirty looks from everyone I passed. That’s one thing about Detroit you know where that plane is going because people are wearing hats and shirts with the state, city or school logo. And so I’d pull out my Lions hat on occasion, trying to cool the stench from the stink eyes that were laid on me.

Why this hometown hold on me?

Investment.

Not in dollars but in memories. Regardless of how many years I spent living someplace else, the amount of time I've spent thinking about the place where I grew up exceeds every other place by a factor. "Where are you from," is the most oft asked intro question and how you answer it says a lot about you.

Most people of my vintage can recall the starting lineup from their childhood teams more readily than the current roster. The ’84 Tigers, ’89 Pistons, no problem. Even some of the stinker Lions teams have carved a pathway in my brain where current names don’t stick.

And so when I come to Detroit and pass the world’s biggest tire, or the Joe Louis statue, the Ren Cen or I bite into a Lafayette Coney Island hotdog - which looks and smells just as it did when I was a kid - I am rooting for more than just a team. I am cheering for much more than the current roster of players who weren't alive when I last spent Thanksgiving at the Pontiac Silverdome. I am bleeding for more than a jersey.

I am rooting for a city that hasn’t had a football championship in 70 years (Read about the curse of Bobby Layne). A city that’s been through hell and back and a fan base that never stopped believing. Because unlike Washington we don’t have a history of championships, we are seeking our first Super Bowl appearance.

And so when I cheer for the Silver and Blue I am cheering for my childhood and all that it represented to me. When I see those colors and those helmets, even though they have changed over the years, I see myself wrapped in all the excitement of a child who wants to stay til the bitter end, no matter how bad traffic will be.

I remember what it was like to be a kid in love with my hometown team, and when I root for them, in that city, I am that kid again.

One Shot at 57

One Shot

The morning did not start out great. I woke with a head feeling heavy from sinus and post-New Years list-making. I was a little rattled about going because even at 57 these tournamnents make me nervous.

So I drive to the course, thinking about all I need to do and so I miss the exit and have to turn around to arrive with only a few minutes til tee-off.

I spend my seven minutes of warm-up chopping up more turf than a full round. And then to top it off, I meet my partner for the day. He is wearing a scarlet and gray pull-over with the Ohio State University logo on it.

This was not going to be my day.

He is from Columbus, Ohio State has just beaten the number one team in the country and he wants to talk about it.

But we got off the first tee and had a decent front nine. We struggled on the back and limped home. As we putted out I was telling the caddie to bring my clubs to the car.

But as the other teams finished it became clear that our score was good enough for second place and according to tournament rules the top two teams play for the prize money.

After the final group putted in we approach the first playoff hole, with an uneventful tie, no blood.

On the second the other team poked a nice shot on the green, just past the hole for a make-able putt. It was my turn. The distance was between clubs. but I grabbed the longer one, I didn’t want to swing too hard.

By now all the golfers from the various groups, including those from the practice tee and the dining area were watching. I knew I couldn’t stand nervously on the tee and breath and think and worry. I needed to just take my shot.

I took a chunky practice swing and pulled the trigger. It looked good in the air, but it was always gonna be about the distance. It hit the green short of the hole, one-hopped and IN!

I couldn’t see it, but the "roar" of the small crowd told me, there would be no need for my putter.

Hugs, excitement, high fives, smiles, back pats all around.

When I find out that a guy was filming I got very excited and had to watch. How lucky I was to have it. I sent it to my family group chat to the following responses:

Daughter One: Who is that?

Daughter two: I'm confused?

Son: It’s a good thing you got it on video because I wouldn’t have believed you. 

Wife: Are you almost done? Dinner resy is for 7:30.

So what does it all mean?

Not much. 

Maybe a little bit about showing up, even when you're not feeling your best. Do some things that make you uncomfortable like standing up in front of a bunch of people you don' t know and try to hit a ball straight, because sometimes it goes in. Don't be distracted by scarlet and gray when the sky is perfectly blue and the greens are, well, green. 

As kids, every day, there are is a chance to win on the sports fields, grades in school and constant measurements as we get taller or stronger. 

In middle age we are still chasing these rushes but they are harder to find. Work victories become less meaningful, a win on the pickle ball court gives you a lift or your fantasy football player scores a late touchdown. 

But there is something unique about golf where you can stand where the best golfers in the world could stand and you can hit the same shot just as well, or better. Same clubs, same ball, same distance.

I'm never gonna hit a home run off Shohei Ohtani, catch a pass from Jayden Daniels, score goal for the Red Wings, catch an alley-oop from Steph Curry.

But I can get a hole in one and no one can beat that score on that hole.

The "crowds" are smaller, the "roar" wouldn't wake a sleeping baby, but walking up the green to get my ball, I know who I am.

I'm Tiger Woods. 

Not to my wife, or my kids or the anonymous guys I'm high fiving, but for that moment and the drive home there is nothing better than the quiet satisfaction of getting this small job done.