I don’t know how many of you have hit milestone birthdays. You know…the big three oh. Or forty when things on your body start moving south. Perhaps fifty, which they say is the new forty. Or…oh no….sixty?!

I was good up till this year, never really felt old. Thought I had escaped all those ‘old people’ ailments. Thought I was different, maybe had better genes.

Or something.

But last spring I turned sixty. That seems like a really big number. I remember my parents when they were sixty and they were old. And now I feel old too, because all sorts of things are happening to me.

I used to be able to stand up and get dressed. I stood on one foot regularly, putting on pants or socks. Now I sway precariously as I try to get a sock on my foot and I don’t even try putting on pants the old way. I sit first.

I used to be able to read signs way down the road. Now I need to wear my glasses to see the television across the room. And I’m pretty sure I’ll have to wear glasses to pass the DMV eye test next time I need to renew my drivers license.

I used to run marathons. Not fast, but I got five of them done. Now I have trouble running for more than a couple minutes at a time. On a treadmill.

And apparently I have an impinged rotator cuff. I don’t know what I did to impinge it but I went to four weeks of physical therapy to make my shoulder stronger. It’s stronger but still impinged, which I am reminded of every night when I reach back to pull the blanket over me as I settle into bed.

I used to cross country ski to get through the winters. Now I hope to head somewhere warmer for the worst of the cold season. I guess that makes me a snowbird wanna be.

And surely that makes me old.