This was one of those days that made me feel old.
It wasn't the hour-and-a-half hike this morning (my fourth day in a row of one-to-three-hour excursions) when we had to call off the dog from chasing coyotes.
It wasn't even the aching achilles that reminded me I have this evil-looking bone spur in my ankle.
It was biking on some single track that I keep thinking will get easier with time. Instead, it humbles me every time.
There was a time in my active life when I could be confident the miles would get easier. The times would drop. Certain foes would eventually be reeled in.
Not any more.
The young guy above is heading for a tough trail called Holy Cross. We could give him directions, but we'll never ride it.
Not now.
I should be able to sit up at the top of this trail and think, not bad for a guy over sixty.
Instead, I think, I'm never going to do that four-day, advanced trail ride.
Not now.
I'm cool with that. I'm fortunate to have my health, a comfortable life, and a place on the edge of some of the world's best mountain biking.
When I think about the condition of the world and the problems most people face, I am one of the luckiest people on earth. Percentage-wise, one of the best-off people in human history.
It's just not likely to get any better, that's all.
The trails below won't get easier with time.
There was a time they would have, and I would've bombed down the inclines confident that, next time, I'd be faster. Next time, I would stick that one last drop through the boulders.
Next year, more personal bests, more pelts on the wall.
But now I watch the young the guy head toward Holy Cross, and I think: This is what it feels like to be old.
If you're lucky.
