Over the weekend before JULY 4TH, my friend L followed the Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run, which to many of these crazy runners was THE event. He sent me a video showing great views of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and perfect forms of a few front runners. Monday morning, this gave us a lot to talk about. On the Web, he traced down the oldest finisher (68) who did it in about 26 hours. "See how good he looks!" L bubbled with the enthusiasm of a teenager. I understood. The guy gave L (and whoever so inspired and uplifted by his example) hope, the hope of a strong spirit to face the later years of life. It was like what Andy in Shawshank prison said, "hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things." This reminded me of my own obsession with looks these years. (I wanted to look like Bruce Lee.) Wisdoms like "Don't judge a book by its cover" must exist in many cultures. They are true, and in fact, I used them to justify my out-of-shape existence in the past. After I turned 40, however, the pendulum has swung to the opposite side and another profound truth started to slowly manifest itself. It's not that I'm ready to practice the ancient Chinese art of face-reading. Nonetheless, these days I think looks are (almost) everything. And I am not alone. It is said that Abraham Lincoln, when he was President of the U.S., was advised to include a certain man in his cabinet. When he refused he was asked why he would not accept him. "I don't like his face," the President replied. "But the poor man isn't responsible for his face," responded his advocate. "Every man over forty is responsible for his face" countered Lincoln. According to Orwell, "at 50, everyone has the face he deserves." But L must be an outlier to this model. He started running at 52 and ran his first 50km after three years. And today, he looked much better than eight years ago. I joked he was the last one admitted before they shut the door. |