My political involvement has been undercut by my jaded feelings emanating from the election of class presidents who won on popularity and foolish promises that they could deliver soda machines in the high school cafeteria, or build a new college student union building in a year when clearly such decisions would only be made in the bureaucracy well above their heads.  As I’ve aged slightly, my scepticism has failed to fade.  Election promises seem vacuous, and the politicians making them seem incapable of taking steps to implement even the most basic of plans under the pressure of party politics.  Insulting pandering runs rife.

Admittedly, I’ve only voted once in a presidential race, but considering that vote was cast for George W Bush, an eight year hiatus from the political process is probably just.  In that near-decade span, my politics have changed, my world-view has changed, but my belief that the American political system is too compromised to change have not.

I still don’t think that America, as a country, can change course over night, but for the first time in my life, I’m confronted with a candidate in Barack Obama for whom I am legitimately hopeful, and represents more than the lesser evil between two mediocre candidates.  Although I fancy myself to be smart and well educated, all I know is that I know very little, but still I find it high time to pass on fear, cynicism and small-mindedness and instead move towards a hope that the realities of America and our domestic and foreign policies can change, even when the current system seems irrevocably broken.

To date, I’ve never lived through a golden period of American politics, merely a steam of trickle down economics, scandal and popular disapproval.  I’m hoping for more.

I’ve always said that the best preparation for becoming a dirty old man is being a dirty young man, and as Leah knows, I’m hard at work.  The main question in my own mind is “did I start early enough,” and the proper conclusion is no.  If there is one lesson that two weeks of non-stop Olympics viewing has taught me, it’s that I’m already past my prime.  I’m at the age when most elite athletes start getting put out to pasture.  Sure, in some sports I’d be able to squeak out another four years, but then I’d truly be an elder statesmen.  The time for me to get really good at anything has already passed.

It’s a little disheartening when most of the competitors, male and female are younger than you, and while I can recall a time, merely a couple of Olympic cycles ago, when I would have described female gymnasts as “cute”, the thought now is far too lecherous and disgusting, even for me.  Even discounting pre-pubescent Chinese machine-cogs, the same is now true for actresses and pop-musicians.  Britney?  She’s younger than I am, and as we all know, rapidly descending the far side of the hill.  I’m not counting on any Oscars from Jessica Alba.  John Mayer is toying with retirement.  My contemporaries in these fields have already peaked. 

The point is neither to bemoan the fact that I can no longer be considered a developmental athlete (nor even close to it) or to indicate an unhealthy attraction towards college-age javelin specialists, but rather to show that I am, as Leah tells me, prematurely old.  Most of this has to do with my attitudes towards home ownership and maintenance, and my preference for cars built before I was born, but it’s also interesting to note that for the hours and hours and hours I spend online each week, I can only recognize one song on the Billboard Top 50 (thanks for saving my ass Coldplay).  Damned if I know what movies are coming out soon. 

While 40 may be the new 30 with regard to aging, it appears that in many ways 20 may be the new 30 when it comes to staying current.  While being “in the know” doesn’t strongly appeal to me at this stage in life, I do wonder how in a period of four years I went from being a kid listening to hip-hop on the radio, to wondering who or what the heck is Ne-Yo?  I’m sure the nature of mass-media and the internet has something to do with this, and once again it’s not ruining my life, but it is strange to think that the “young” news-makers from here on out will predominantly be younger than I am.

Statistically, Leah and I are in the vicinity of the one third mark of our life expectancies, and we’re both in a period of change from the pursuits of youth (even education), to our careers, family and hopes for middle age.  My ten year high school reunion is next fall (Leah’s already passed), and while I realize I’m still a youngster by most measurements, it’s scary to see how fast you come so far, or even how quickly you try to stay the same.

In a few years, Olympians will potentially be only a little older than our our (future) children.  Maybe by then I’ll have come to grips with the fact that I’m not eighteen anymore.  The last few years have been great fun, but I do struggle to adapt to the changes, and realize that it’s okay that things that were important very recently now hold no value whatsoever.  Youth is clearly idolized by society, and we value “potential” and “up-side” and “promise”, but I think I’m continuing to gain a great appreciation for character, and proven track-records and wisdom.

It’s a fine line between growing up and growing old.  While sometimes it feels like the latter, I dearly hope it’s the former.

Anyone else have a moment when it hit them that time was rushing onwards?  I’m sure having kids is a huge factor.  Don’t worry, I’ll stop bitching and moaning soon.  Racing season is almost over.

i thought about titling this post “Crashing: or what I hate most about my husband’s cycling career”, but wordpress protested at the length. Alan tells me that he hasn’t had a serious crash since 2005, but this year there have been a few memorable ones already. Thankfully, his ribs are healing from the fairly epic road race crash a few weeks back that left him with a broken rib. Not-so-thankfully, Alan was caught up in another crash last Friday.  If you aren’t familiar with track cycling, here’s a little video to let you know what it looks like when a crash happens:

Track Cycling Crash

Now imagine seeing that happen to someone you love. I’m completely aware that Alan can take care of himself, but for those seconds the crash was occurring, and for the tense minutes afterward waiting to see if he was okay, I found myself breathless. My legs took on a mind of their own, and without so much as a nod to his parents, who were sitting beside me in the stands, I was sprinting across the track and over the infield to reach Alan.  All the crashed racers had nasty cases of road rash, bruises, and various degrees of bicycle damage. All I know was that I never want to see something like that happen again. I’ll continue to watch the races, sure, but knowing the potential for crashes affecting someone I love deeply, I understand why some wives opt not to come to the races.

In the meantime, we’ve got a physical therapy exercise ball in the living room, tons of bandaging material, neosporin and tegaderm at the ready, and are seeing how things will shape up in the next few days. As for me, I think I’ve discovered a new career as a sprinter. I guess it’s all about the motivation.