I found a white hair the other day while readying myself for work. It was a not-all-that-unexpected sign of my waning youth, an unavoidable signpost on life’s hiking trail. Then again, calling it white isn’t really fair. It was actually more clear, the lack of pigment giving me momentary pause and forcing me to question whether I might actually have become less substantial. Then I shifted my gaze down to the over-inflated spare tire forcing the top of my boxer briefs’ waistband to submit to its expanding influence and realized that I was, in fact, becoming more substantial.
My knees creak after shooting baskets and I have to use the elliptical machine at the gym to avoid additional impact.