64 and so much more

If you're keen on Neil Young, and I know not everyone is, you recognize the title ot today's blog from one of his early hits. It's a slightly altered line from his song Old Man. He wrote that song when he was in his early 20's.

There is NOTHING I wrote in my early 20's that would stand the test of time. 

Today I turn 65 and could easily argue, in my patented self-deprecatory voice, that I still haven't achieved that elusive goal. But because it is my birthday I am giving myself the gift of immodesty. And telling the story of a goal I have met.

Years ago, I bought a free standing Olympic weight set. I didn't buy it new and pay an arm and a leg, a flabby arm and an ill defined leg at that. No, I ventured onto the Facebook Marketplace and found a fellow selling his 275 lbs. set for a reasonable price. They're weights, what did I care if they had been used. And in his case, they barely were.

You can read that story here if you'd like.

At the time of my purchase we were in the pre-pandemic era. It was also the Pre-Cancer era that took my wife's life, brought me to my knees and changed everything.

Well, almost everything. 

Because when I brought home the Olympic sized weights I had sworn to myself that this aging thing was nothing more than an arbitrary number. And that the number of trips I had made around the sun in no way defined me. I still subscribe to that. 

Even though I'm now closer to pulling the trigger and releasing the floodgate of Social Security money I have accrued and spending my money before the GOP spends it on premium high octane gas for their book-burning pyres. Or finely tethered yachts.

Ironically, having recently been laid off from PayPal, I find myself competing with freelance copywriters who are less than half my age and incorrectly assume I can't compete in the digital arena. How did one contentious no-name hack put it? 

"You're just an old washed up dinosaur who's living off the fumes of a not-so-great yellow campaign that no one even remembers. Go to sleep old man, go to sleep."

Maybe I should've CC'ed him on the memo, but I'm not done yet. 

In fact, I would argue, having spent the last 2 & 1/2 years working client-side and acquainting myself with landing pages, engagement cards and overly-provocative Subject Lines ("Rich, can you get in touch with HR immediately?") I'm better equipped for today's workload than ever before.

But back to the weights -- an indication of my vitality if ever there was one.

When I began my three day a week lifting routine, I told myself I would hoist up 225 lbs. This is the benchmark weight seen at the official NFL combine, where million-dollar athletes, in the prime of their lives peacock their lithe, fast-twitch wares to scouts looking for the next Patrick Mahomes or Jalen Hurts. 

If you've ever watched the combine, and I have, for the many promo assignments I did for the NFL, you know each prospect is measured for speed, verticality and strength. Many of the oversized linemen can bench press 225 lbs. upwards of 30 or 40 times. Some of the halfbacks and Euro-punters, not so much. Some not even in the double digits.

For the purposes of my delusional fantasy, I chose to pit myself against the latter. And now, on my 65th birthday, I am happy to say I have made good on the promise/goal I set for myself and hoisted the 4 plates (muscle-head jargon) 12 contiguous times, surpassing the reps of Jethro Clappershack, a 3rd string back up QB from South Memphis Technical University.

Tonight I will blow out the candle on my keto-approved cupcake and wish to see the day when I successfully put up 300 lbs. 

I should probably get a spotter.