A Storyby Sue Mell
All the women you know are running triathlons. This is what happens when you turn fifty—you have to prove to yourself you’ve got something left. And what better way to do it than to throw your body at a vicious deadline with a torturous regimen of training? Nobody hopes to come in first; you hope just to finish. It’s hardly a race, more like a masochistic last lemmings’ leap at the notion of health and vitality, the idea of a future that still has time for aspiration. Thatta girl, honey—you step right over that cliff! That crowd of chiropractors and physical therapists you see down there? Why, they’re all waiting just for you! Have some cookies instead.