60

"When you turn 60 everything falls apart", I am informed by Daisy, a regular in the weight lifting room. I attend a local gym where people from 16 to 102 frequent the weight room, offer unfiltered advice, know each others schedules, aches, pains and monitor each others fitness levels with the interest that any misery-loves-company support group offers. "Are you training for the Olympics?" one of the very senior members asks me during a particularly aggressive workout. "No, I'm training to go to Costco…and I think its time for you to get new glasses" I respond. And so tomorrow, when I turn 60, I will attempt to do a chin-up without busting my shoulder or injuring anyone else…a challenge I set for myself last year.

Given that my parents didn't get out of their 60's alive, I can't say I've been looking forward to this birthday. Certainly I am happy to have made it this far, given my congenital klutziness and turning 60 is better than not having the opportunity to. However the media suggests that the sixth decade is often dedicated to retirement, spending time in tropical climates, sleeping in till 8 am every day, golfing and gardening the days away.  As wonderful as that freedom 55 lifestyle appears, I wonder how I could fit my square peg of a life into that round hole, and if I'd want to even if it were possible.

So I've decided that I am not mature enough to be 60…not with two kids in elementary school, a morning ritual that involves making babies, and a lifestyle that involves a mom-van and 7 swim practices a week.  I have no plans to make a radical shift in my life…its the best its ever been.  We work because we love it and still feel like we can contribute.  I have a whole lot of math homework to get through before the kids are launched.  And I have the good fortune to be with a great guy who shares it all with me.  This is the new 60.