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There are battles we cannot win.  There are fights we know we will lose.  In those situations, should we not engage the enemy?

Well, yeah, we probably shouldn’t.

But there is one all-powerful enemy that I do believe we should engage and battle on a regular basis.  This enemy sometimes steals things from you when you aren’t paying attention.  This enemy sometimes takes things from you forcefully while you ARE paying attention.  This enemy has no corporeal body.  This enemy has no head to cut off, no heart to stab through.  Eventually, this enemy will get you.  It is inevitable.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, this enemy is Time – the stealer of all things.

I have been watching Time – watching it slowly take away my youth and that of my friends, some more quickly than others.  True, I am 41 – I am not a Spring chicken anymore…hell, I’m not even a Summer chicken anymore.  The gray hair has arrived, as have some wrinkles around the eyes.  Both are tough to take for a guy with a mild Peter Pan/Mickey Mouse complex, but I know that the hair and the wrinkles are a natural part of aging.  Recovery isn’t as easy anymore and aches take a little longer to go away.

And yet, I fight.  Taking the battle to Time.

I wake up at 4:00 AM to squeeze in the miles, get the blood flowing, get the endorphins pumping.

I cannot stop Time, but dammit, I’m holding it back as long as I can.

Running is my sword, sweat is my shield and with my weapons of choice I have managed to get myself into the best shape I’ve been in since I was 18, maybe even better.

Eventually time will deal me a fatal blow.  We can’t live forever (not yet anyway), but when it’s finally my time to go, I am going to go knowing that I gave time a run for the money.  I know that I will look and feel younger than most of my contemporaries.  I’ll know that I was able to turn back the clock just a little.  I’ll go knowing I didn’t give up.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas

I will not go gently into that good night.  I will rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Will you?

Why do you run?