CLEARLY, IT’S time to arrive at some sort of mandated retirement age for runners—especially for those about to turn 40.

The way I envision it, any runner 40 or older should be required by law to turn in their running shoes. I’m not saying you should throw a shawl over their shoulders and point them toward the nearest rocking chair. But you should make it clear that running is O-U-T!

I bring this up because my 40th birthday is just around the corner, and I’m experiencing the kind of fear and dread that only a philosopher like Kierkegaard could fully appreciate. I lie awake in the middle of the night listening for an irregular heartbeat and asking myself questions like, When was my last checkup? and Have I been getting enough fiber?

Other runners I know are more optimistic about turning 40. For them, it will be a delirious exhilaration of independence, a rebirth backward in time and into primeval liberty, a rebirth in the simplest, literal, primitive meaning of the word. They can’t wait for masters competition, for new PRs. They say, “Don’t think of 40 as old. Let your personal crisis lead to constructive growth by becoming a more intelligent, creative masters runner.”

I wish I could be so positive. Especially since (according to the studies I’ve been reading), my speed, endurance, and VO₂max are all about to take a long, slow escalator ride to the has-been basement. I’ve already started to experience depression (“I’m getting too old to be a runner”), physical breakdown (“I think my Achilles is acting up”), professional self-doubt (“Look for me at the back of the pack”), and the loss of youthful idealism (“I’ll never get that marathon world record now”).

My optimistic friends assure me that age is only a state of mind. “If you keep telling yourself that you’re over-the-hill,” they say, “before long, that’s how you’ll start to feel. On the other hand, if you work at staying youthful—if you think young—that’s what you’ll be. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. Look at Frank Shorter, Bill Rodgers, and Priscilla Welch. They turned 40 and were as competitive as ever—maybe more so. You can bet they don’t consider themselves old.”

I don’t know, maybe my friends have a point. I may be losing a little speed, and my body has become a little stingy regarding certain juices that have all sorts of beneficial effects (only unpleasant things like anger or the proximity of death seems to open the floodgates). But at an age when most men are worrying about bulging waistlines and lamenting over scarcely remembered football games, I eat anything I like and smile at the knowledge that I’m physically as strong as I’ve ever been in my life.

I guess things aren’t all that bad.

Actually, running has a lot going for it: It keeps me fit and healthy; it adds focus to my life; it forces me to set goals; and it helps me develop mental stamina. Besides that, it’s fun.

Quit running? No way.

I’m kind of looking forward to masters competition. Who knows, I might even set a few PRs. Maybe I’ll give Bill Rodgers and Frank Shorter a run for their money. Nothing is impossible, right?

Why, I bet if I had an electric guitar, I could even jam with The Rolling Stones. Wait a minute, isn’t Mick Jagger over 50? Gee, I wouldn’t want to make him feel old. Let’s see. First I’d have to learn to play the guitar. I can do that.

But, hey, it might not be too late to make that next Olympic team; then the Stones would let me jam with them whether I could play guitar or not.