Growing Older

When I started teaching, I was only 4-5 years older than my oldest students (some of whom were repeaters), and an average of 8 years older (and I could still race any of them at 100 meters and win). I also was 135 lbs soaking wet, and had maybe two chest hairs fighting for space on the vast expanse of my size 36 pectorals. I wanted so badly to be recognized as older, a grownup. (I even got locked out of the teachers' lounge once as a student teacher because they thought from a distance I was one of the kids). One reason I ditched my contacts and went back to the specs is so I might have a chance of being called "sir" without a double-take.

Fast-forward. Today a kid on my team--one of the upperclassmen, mind you--reminded me that I'm 22 years older than him. I'm TRIPLE the age of my students in the middle school. I've already posted about meeting a former student in his 30s a couple of weeks ago. Today I didn't run a pretty easy workout with the team because I'm "recovering" from yesterday, and because I got a shooting phantom pain in my butt after that supposedly "easy" one. And worst of all, the (still small, but slightly broader) chest now has hair. Hair that matches that on my shoulders, my back, and the ancient-guy stuff that is growing out of my nose. Every time I go to the barber, he clips my bushy eyebrows--without even asking! My GRANDDADDY had bushy eyebrows!

So I guess I'm a grownup. It's not all it's cracked up to be. Being "sir" to a 17 year old is cool, but when the faculty starts doing it... ouch. Where do I sign up to be 25 again (or at least to run like it?)