The biggest indication that I'm 80 is not just that I've taken up knitting. While a kitty-cat purrs on the ottoman next to me. Or that I enjoy sitting by the fire, drinking hot tea and reading in the evenings. Or that I choose to sleep in, paddle about on the weekends in sweats drinking coffee, shopping and lazing about instead of running or racing. Or that I now bake cinnamon rolls and scones and Christmas cookies (although I draw the line at fruit cake, that will have to wait until I turn 85). Or wake up at 6a every morning just to drink coffee by the fire and write. And read. No, no. The biggest indication is perhaps that I started a Knit Club. And that I added to my bucket list, the item: Knit a Throw Blanket.
Random aside: remember that one day when I was a young kid of about 31, that one who started a running/drinking club? That one who ran every race she could manage and would run 40 miles a week, regardless of injury or sleep? Back when I always ran uphill and into the sleet and freezing rain? Oh, memories.
Back at it. So, you know how it is. The first rule of Knit Club? Never talk about knit club. (name the movie i derived that from and you get a gold star and a shout out!). And that's that. Knit Club now exists. But it cannot be discussed. Just sharing this tidbit as a true indicator that my transformation into an 80 year old woman stuck in a 32 year old body is complete.
As if that weren't enough, the original Fair Weather Runners have been reunited recently. After a few rough and/or busy years for all of us, we have gotten the gang back together. As I knew we would. The originals. Me, the running Katie and the running Jessica. However, we may still be the originals, but now we get together to eat. And drink home brew.And chitty chatty.
You know, talk about life. The good old days when we ran our first races and half marathons together and how we all almost died. Or how we all almost died during our group personal training sessions. Or how we were a raggedy bunch who all dropped out of our second half marathon together, so we wouldn't almost die. Because ONE of us was on crutches (coughahem), one was pregnant, and one was battling the worst, never ending cold known to man. Or how on an early morning run by the river Katie fell and sprained her ankle, it was her birthday, and so we had to sit and wait on the curb of a random house at 5:30 in the morning while Jessica went to get a car. We talk about DNF's, the ins and outs of relationships, babies, and houses. The real stuff. I mean... shiz gets REAL with us, people. And I like it. We can be honest, be our true selves, share the good, the bad and the very, very ugly. And we have. And we do.
The point here is this. My original running buddies and I are back and do plan to race together again. 80 years old or not. In April. But as we evolve, so does our running. And our relationship. I kind of love it really. I love that we all had our individual battles we fought separately for a few years, but we are reunited. And it feels so good! I have kindred 80-year-olds-trapped-in-30-something-bodies friends.
The friends that together we talk about how we can't wait until we really are little old ladies. So we can go to water aerobics at the YMCA. Then go to the locker room where we let our wobbly bits flop about all nimbly-bimbly while we shamelessly curse and listen in as young women talk about their running and racing. Then we interrupt them impolitely (because we can, because we are 80!) and tell them that back in our day we used to run. Pregnant. On crutches. Sick. Uphill. In the snow. Or in 115 degrees. Beat THAT. Young whipper snappers... Then we will put our clothes on and go eat breakfast. Together.