Well, I don’t wanna get bitter
I don’t wanna turn cruel
I don’t wanna get old
Before I have to

— jill susan sobule

—

Upside of running at the gym: All the old folks look just like me.

Downside: The membership card isn’t particularly tasty.

Longtime readers will recall my solemn vow to run outside today. But that was before the Lindsey Graham news.

He had just turned 71. I am on the precipice of 70. He had a bad heart. I have a bad heart. He ignored it. I pretend I’m OK. Even though I’m painfully aware I am not.

And so I grudgingly ran my laps today in the cool comfort of the little SCC track, pondering life and death and hate and forgiveness and how could you celebrate someone’s death, and how could you not? Life is complicated, I suppose. Death is pretty simple.

I’m always grappling with just how much I can get away with in pushing the transplanted monkey heart. Should I take the prescribed pills even though they make me into a zombie, and not in the Cranberries sense of the word? Should I run in the heat to get stronger and take a chance on my heart wonking out entirely? Should I give up? Ignore it? What exactly SHOULD I do?

I still have no idea.

Funny how loving someone can change your perspective. I don’t think I would worry about it at this point if it were just me. 70 is a fine quitting point; anything past that is purely a bonus. But I’d like to annoy Mo for a while longer, which requires staying alive. Also we just bought ice cream and I would hate to bow out before it’s gone. But mostly that first point.

I’m not sure where this is leading. They say exercise is good for an ailing heart, but excessive exercise is not. I’m not sure what is considered excessive and I don’t want to find out. So I’m guessing I’ll compromise. Don’t run outside when it’s over 100, drink more water, avoid trips to Ukraine, drink even more water, give serious thought about whether the 12 hour run at the end of August is such a great idea, live my life without selling my soul and kissing up to a wannabe dictator purely for political advantage.

Jill Sobule once wrote about not wanting to get old until she had to. And then she died in a house fire at 66 before she got the chance. I should add avoiding house fires to the list. You never know what the future holds. Ice cream, hopefully.

I’m sure I can abide by at least some of those resolutions, which will be a huge improvement over my new year’s resolutions, which I’ve forgotten entirely.

Four miles on the track today, 15:15 pace, heart still a-fibbing all over the place, thoughts of why the hell am I doing this mostly left behind on the back stretch. I’m sure they’ll know where to find me tomorrow.

This coming week: Another installment of Let’s Find Out If I Have Cancer, Let’s Celebrate Becoming a Septuagenarian (who came up with these names?), and let’s pile up a huge mileage total to pretend last month didn’t happen.

Also, no trips to Ukraine.

I don’t want to get old before I have to …