Birthdays aren’t what they used to be

I had a birthday this week. Like comedian George Lopez would say, I was thrilled to have it because it means I’m not dead.

Friends and family called to indicate their memory is still sharp enough to have remembered my birthday. Some sang, some were brief, others wanted to catch up. Most of them asked if I felt another year older.

Truth is, I don’t feel another year older. I feel about like I did five or 10 years ago. In fact, because of diet, exercise and a good wife, I feel just like I thought five years ago that I’d feel at this point. And I may be naive, but I expect to feel the same 10 years from now. After that I may give the whole diet and exercise thing a rest.

But it strikes me that I’m actually doing and feeling much better than I would have guessed, were I to ask myself 25 years ago what I thought I’d feel like at this point in my life. Strange? Not really.

At age 62 I’m not playing pickup basketball like I once did. My football playing consists of throwing passes to grandsons, who do all the running. But I can still hum it in a nice spiral.

I’ve traded running, which I never liked, for bike riding, which I love. I’m riding 64 miles tomorrow to commemorate my birthday — one mile per year with a couple extra thrown because the route is 64 miles and I don’t want to stop two miles from home.

I eat basically a paleo diet, with some allowances for chocolate covered raisins and more fruit than it likes because, hey, it’s fruit and has to be good for you. Paleo is ultra low carb, basically meat, veggies, fruit. I haven’t done soft drinks for years; don’t eat stuff like rice, bread and potatoes that turn to sugar in your body. I’m not on any medicine of any kind. Thank you mom and dad for good genetics.

Some 100 Facebook friends took the time to say “Happy Birthday” and that was nice. I got a new computer monitor to fight “text neck” from being hunched over trying to read my tiny laptop screen.

But the birthday, the demarcation of another year gone by, was really, just another day. I’m going to a birthday party Sunday for a grandson who has been excited about it for a month. My daughter blocks off her “birth month” for daily celebration.

“Just another day” can be a good thing when your days are good. And thanks be to God, my days are good.

I wish the same for you.

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