The best is yet to come.
Published
February 10, 2013
The psychologist Elliott Jaques,
who coined the term "midlife crisis," noted how our view in middle age
shifts from "time since birth" to "time left to live." Most in our
youth-and growth-centered society see this shift as a loss. And, as the
term "crisis" implies, it's a shock for many: In confronting our own
inevitable decline and death, we often have to go through stages similar
to grief--denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
As a runner, it seems to me that our sport helps us move more quickly toward acceptance. We may spend a few years in denial and anger, we may try to bargain for a few more years with harder or smarter training, but unless we're delusional, our times empirically tell us that we've moved into what Jung called "the afternoon of life." Our choice is depression or acceptance, and fortunately, running helps fend off the depression. Beyond the self-medicating benefits of endorphins, running reminds us daily that, even if we're slower than we used to be, we're not dead yet, in any sense of that word.
"Acceptance" in this context feels like a resignation that life will be less from now on, but several recent studies on happiness show quite the opposite--that happiness over time follows a U-curve, reaching its lowest in midlife, then climbing thereafter as you age. Laura Carstensen of Stanford University, author of one of the studies, credits the rise in happiness to increased emotional stability and the ability to appreciate the present.
"As people get older, they're more aware of mortality," Carstensen said to Science Daily. "So when they see or experience moments of wonderful things, that often comes with the realization that life is fragile and will come to an end. But that's a good thing. It's a signal of strong emotional health and balance."
At the age of 48, I'm starting to experience this phenomenon. When I go for a run, I find I'm less likely to evaluate it in terms of how it compares to yesterday's run or bodes for tomorrow's goal. It's not even the defiant staving off the future that it was a few years ago--I'm learning to relish the simple joy that today I ran. A good race can now be appreciated as a good race, not a prediction of what I "could" or "should" be able to do next. Increasingly, I don't even compare the results to what I could do in the past. Race failures are less devastating than in my youth, given a broader perspective on their importance in life and a greater appreciation for the process, regardless of the outcome.
To my surprise, this acceptance isn't leading to a reduction in the nature of my running or goals. I continue to do long runs and intervals and hills and diagonals for the simple thrill of running long and fast, as well as for their effects on my fitness. I just signed up for a marathon next spring, my first in several years after swearing off them when I recognized that I don't have the time or energy to train "properly" for one. I still don't, but I want to run one as strongly as I am able with the time I do have--the time in my schedule and the time left in my life.
We highlight masters runners this issue, in the listing of the best masters performances of the year and in profiles of leading masters runners and running legends. All of them have made this choice, that regardless of what time and energy they have today, they're going to strive and risk. Every masters champion I've met has been understated regarding his or her accomplishments--as has every elite runner at any age, as David Alm explores in his essay on adopting elite attitudes. It seems that what they do doesn't impress them and they don't do it for external praise, they do it because it's what they do and what they enjoy.
The studies say that on average, American males reach their low point in happiness at age 49. I'd argue that runners hit bottom earlier, because we have better feedback from our aging bodies, and thus have a head start on the climb out to greater happiness. Regardless, if I'm near the bottom, the future is going to be amazing. It comes as a surprise to me, as a runner, to recognize that even as I'm getting older and slower, the best is yet to come.
- Jonathan Beverly, Editor-in-Chief
As a runner, it seems to me that our sport helps us move more quickly toward acceptance. We may spend a few years in denial and anger, we may try to bargain for a few more years with harder or smarter training, but unless we're delusional, our times empirically tell us that we've moved into what Jung called "the afternoon of life." Our choice is depression or acceptance, and fortunately, running helps fend off the depression. Beyond the self-medicating benefits of endorphins, running reminds us daily that, even if we're slower than we used to be, we're not dead yet, in any sense of that word.
"Acceptance" in this context feels like a resignation that life will be less from now on, but several recent studies on happiness show quite the opposite--that happiness over time follows a U-curve, reaching its lowest in midlife, then climbing thereafter as you age. Laura Carstensen of Stanford University, author of one of the studies, credits the rise in happiness to increased emotional stability and the ability to appreciate the present.
"As people get older, they're more aware of mortality," Carstensen said to Science Daily. "So when they see or experience moments of wonderful things, that often comes with the realization that life is fragile and will come to an end. But that's a good thing. It's a signal of strong emotional health and balance."
At the age of 48, I'm starting to experience this phenomenon. When I go for a run, I find I'm less likely to evaluate it in terms of how it compares to yesterday's run or bodes for tomorrow's goal. It's not even the defiant staving off the future that it was a few years ago--I'm learning to relish the simple joy that today I ran. A good race can now be appreciated as a good race, not a prediction of what I "could" or "should" be able to do next. Increasingly, I don't even compare the results to what I could do in the past. Race failures are less devastating than in my youth, given a broader perspective on their importance in life and a greater appreciation for the process, regardless of the outcome.
To my surprise, this acceptance isn't leading to a reduction in the nature of my running or goals. I continue to do long runs and intervals and hills and diagonals for the simple thrill of running long and fast, as well as for their effects on my fitness. I just signed up for a marathon next spring, my first in several years after swearing off them when I recognized that I don't have the time or energy to train "properly" for one. I still don't, but I want to run one as strongly as I am able with the time I do have--the time in my schedule and the time left in my life.
We highlight masters runners this issue, in the listing of the best masters performances of the year and in profiles of leading masters runners and running legends. All of them have made this choice, that regardless of what time and energy they have today, they're going to strive and risk. Every masters champion I've met has been understated regarding his or her accomplishments--as has every elite runner at any age, as David Alm explores in his essay on adopting elite attitudes. It seems that what they do doesn't impress them and they don't do it for external praise, they do it because it's what they do and what they enjoy.
The studies say that on average, American males reach their low point in happiness at age 49. I'd argue that runners hit bottom earlier, because we have better feedback from our aging bodies, and thus have a head start on the climb out to greater happiness. Regardless, if I'm near the bottom, the future is going to be amazing. It comes as a surprise to me, as a runner, to recognize that even as I'm getting older and slower, the best is yet to come.
- Jonathan Beverly, Editor-in-Chief
