I turn 48 years young on Thursday. OK, that’s bullshit. I’m 48 years old — and I’m stressing old because that’s how I feel.
When I was in my 30s, I felt as though I was in my 20s. Then, suddenly, I woke up on my 40th birthday and felt 50. Somewhere in there, I skipped “feeling” 20 years of my life, and it hasn’t boded well for me lately as my body breaks down and quits on me at regular intervals.
Now I blame this totally on myself. I’ve gotten fat because I sit on my ass for most of the day with a desk job. I work hard — 10 hour days are the norm rather than exception — but when you’re sitting behind a desk, the term working hard doesn’t seem to be all that credible.
That being said, when the calendar turned over back from 2013 to 14, I remember saying to myself, “I really should start trying to lose some weight.”
I didn’t set a New Year’s Resolution per se, but I had reached my maximum weight and I didn’t like it.
Thus, just through eating better and nothing more, I’ve dropped 15 pounds. I’ve gone from feeling like an anvil to feeling a kettle ball. What can I tell you? Progress is slow.
Only one person in my day-to-day life has said something about it, which tells me I’m still fat.
Now I bring this up today because I don’t set goals. Never have in my whole life, really.
The biggest reason I don’t set goals is because when I do, I fail.
In high school, during my unspectacular track and field career, I set a goal of triple jumping 40 feet. My personal best — officially — was 39 feet, 10 inches. Two inches … can you imagine falling two inches short of a goal? It sucks. I’m pretty sure I cleared 41 feet once upon a time, but I “scuffed fouled.” Back in those days a scuff foul meant a foul and thus it wasn’t a legal jump. Nowadays, scuff fouls — which is the scraping of the foot against the ground during any of the three stages of the jump — is allowed.
After high school, I never set a goal of becoming a sportswriter. That sort of fell into my lap thanks to a lucky break and my God-given talents have allowed me to be a success. That and the fact I love sitting on my ass behind a desk for 10 hours a day, I suppose.
I’ve never smoked cigarettes — save for two packs of menthols one drunken night — thus I never had to set a goal of quitting such a horrible habit.
Heck, outside of one fall season during 8th Grade, I never played soccer, either, so even scoring goals was never a factor in my life.
Yet here I am today, less than 24 hours from reaching 48 years OLD, and I’m setting two goals.
I am doing this because a long time ago, in another lifetime, a young boy who has faded into the passage of time, had always wanted to do these two things. He and his friends had talked about them, but life took us down different paths and those dreams and ideas just kind of faded in time.
I don’t know why, but I’ve dusted them off and looked at them closely. They’re not huge goals — not in the grand scheme of things. They are manageable goals, ones that I know I can reach as long as I put forth the effort.
And my goal is to do both of them before I reach the age of 50. I’ve got two years. That gives me some time to make sure I get there.
I’m not going to say what exactly these two goals are, save for the fact that, in the end, I’ll only need to travel 13.213 miles to accomplish both of them.
But for the first time in my life I’ve set a goal.
Upon accomplishing them, I will add a third goal — to make sure this blog is alive and well, so I can report back to you and let you know that I have reached my goals, one at a time, finally.