61; it's the new 16

Reggie, Clyde and I emerged from the gym this morning, into room temperature air. We all paused just to savor it. Makes you thrilled to be alive. Well, that and a good dose of adrenaline and endorphins coursing through our veins.

We continued to the parking lot. “When you were a kid, did you envision yourselves working out in your sixties?” Clyde wanted to know.

“Hell,” replied Reggie, I didn’t see myself working out back then.” I’m not sure I gave any thought of life beyond forty, if that. If I had, I doubt I would envision myself in the gym. Or, on a bike, in a kayak, etc.

When I first took paddling lessons, at the age of 34, one of the instructors appeared much older than I. I wondered if John could handle it. John kicked by butt. It’s now almost thirty years later and he’s still paddling. And, still kicking my butt.

The conversation continued as we reached Clyde’s car. He rolled down the windows and flicked on the sound system. “You do realize you’re perpetuating a stereotype,” I said dryly.

“That’s the Temps, fool, not some rap garbage.”

We continued our discussion, heads bobbing to the beat of the Temptations. “Ain’t too proud to beg” cued up and head bobbing would no longer suffice. We were boogeying. All we needed was some mint green tuxedos and ruffled shirts. Or, restraints.

A few girls came walking by in tennis togs and smiled at us. I define “girl” as a female under 40. They were taut, tanned and terrific. I’m sure I wouldn’t have envisioned myself noticing that at this stage of life. But, ain’t life grand? Actually, it’s whatever you decide to make it.

I took the hand of the nearest girl and drew her in. Soon, we were all dancing with abandon in the parking lot and laughing our heads off.

Two ladies (close to my age) came toddling by. They stopped and stared. Make that, glared. “Don’t you have any shame, a man of your age?”

“No ma’am, I don’t.” Not one iota.