I'm Old But I'm Slow

I discovered jogging quite late in life. I was in my 40’s when I entered the 17th Annual Berryville, Virginia Turkey Trot in 1997.

Many of my friends in Charles Town are runners. They goaded me into joining them. While they powered through the 6 mile race, I happily sauntered along the 1.5 mile course.

Imagine my surprise when I placed first in my age group (45-49) with a time of 19:23. The winning female posted a time of 10:39 and 44 other runners beat me to the finish line. No matter---I proudly accepted my first ever blue ribbon for a sporting event. I hung my award in a prominent place in my kitchen. A friend admired it and asked if the Turkey Trot was a cooking competition.

When competing in a 5K as an older person, it is VERY important to start jogging when a photographer is present.

I learned a very important lesson from the Berryville Turkey Trot: even though I am slow, I can

always place in my age category because few of my peeps are entering races. Maybe it’s because my age group missed the benefits of Title IX. Enacted in 1972, Title IX of the Education Amendments Act granted girls equal access to sports at public schools. I was already out of high school and college at that point. Running track or cross country never occurred to me during my academic career. Others in my age group may have missed the running boom in the 70’s for the same reason.

Despite my late entry into the world of running, I continue to win t-shirts, sweatshirts, trophies, medals and engraved plates for finishing in the top three of my age group at 5K events. I may be slow but I am old.

Recently, my daughter in Winston Salem NC entered the family in a 5K Beat the Heat race. Molly is a dedicated runner and has completed half-marathons and too many 5K’s to count. Now she is pregnant so she walked the course. Walkers received a 10 minute head start. My goal for the race was simple. Beat my 6 month pregnant daughter to the finish line.

At this stage of my life, my race strategy is to walk fast and occasionally break into a jog. The Beat the Heat race was in the evening but it was still hot. My pace was even slower than usual. The miles clicked by but I was not catching up to Molly. How fast could she be walking for goodness sake? Finally near the end of the course I saw her. Like the good mother I am, I slowed down to walk next to her. Once the finish line was in sight I whispered tenderly, “Love you, honey, but I cannot let you beat me” and picked up my pace.

I finished third in my age group (70-74) with a time of 44:57 because there were only three entrants.

The results are posted on the internet and there is a video clip for each runner as we crossed the finish line. I look like an aging, short of breath hippo lumbering to a water hole.

As long as awards continue to be given in 5 year increments, I plan to keep finishing in the top three. If the age groups ever get broader (like 70 -100 years of age) my winning streak will come to a screeching halt. When I am 80, I doubt very much I can defeat competitors who are only 70.

Gender Reveal: 1986 and 2019

I became pregnant with our second child in 1986. We chose not to know the sex of our first baby (Nick was born in 1985) but wanted to know about our second child. Back in those days, older mothers like me underwent amniocentesis to discover chromosome abnormalities.

Amniocentesis involves the doctor inserting a 3 foot needle into the amniotic sac to withdraw fluid (the needle probably was not quite 3 foot long but that’s my memory!) Analysis of the fluid reveals the sex of the baby. For baby #2, I asked my doctor and good friend Rosie Lorenzetti to wrap up a gift that would tell the sex. She agreed. On Christmas Day 1986, the baby’s grandfathers opened the telltale present.

The cut-out figure of a little girl dressed in pink said it all. Molly Rose joined us four months later. The picture has been hanging in her childhood bedroom ever since.

Now Molly is pregnant. She learned the baby’s sex from the sonogram (no needles needed!) Molly’s “gender reveal” involved her favorite food, Double Stuf Oreos. She and husband Andy injected blue dye in the cream center and dipped the Oreos in candy coating. Ron and I chomped into the cookie and learned we will be grandparents of a boy.

The Oreo tells all: baby boy!

Friends have regaled me with stories of far more elaborate gender reveal parties. Gender reveal smoke sticks, candles and confetti cannons are just some of the party items. Sometimes things can get out of hand as one Arizona man discovered. The expectant father shot off an explosive into the desert sky that puffs blue or pink smoke. Dry brush ignited and a fire raged for 6 days. I don’t know what the father paid for his gender reveal gadget but I suspect it was less than the $8 million in damages he must repay the state.

Molly’s approach to telling us the sex of our first grandchild was perfect given her love of Double Stuf Oreos.

Most importantly, no flora or fauna were harmed in the gender reveal process.

What Not to Say to Older Parents