Time is not on my side

Sitting here, staring down the last day of school and wondering, as always, where does the time go and can I please have some of it back?
The year has three major points — first day of school, Christmas break and last day of school. Everything else is sandwiched in between; just one, long, dizzying blur that speeds up and slows down at random. It's a real life version of the whirling thing in the playground that you spin and hop onto.
One moment, I'm knee-deep in diapers and bedtime chaos. The next, our last child is done with fifth grade.
After 13 years, we have no one left in elementary school.
Part of me thinks that when fall arrives, I'll just keep walking down the block to school even without a kid in tow.
The next one up is heading into 8th grade (on the verge of high school!) and the one after her will be in 11th grade, one year away from graduation. The oldest is done with her freshman year in college.
Who needs to look in the mirror? These kids are a continuous, looping reminder that I am getting older ... every minute of every day.
At what point did I really think that having kids would keep me young?! Whatever that magic was has stopped working.
Worse yet, they think I'm old, not cool. My jokes are not funny. I should not sing out loud. No longer am I at the center of their universe, but rather some fading light in the nighttime sky.
I know they mock me, even though they insist they are not. I can see it in the roll of the eyes and hear it in the heavy sighs.
Can I really be two steps away from the nursing home?
The only consolation is that this will come full circle. I know. I did the same thing to my parents.
The only difference is, of course, I am so much more cooler than my parents were.

Reality bites

It is the dawn of a beautiful spring day, a rare and blessed event in this God-forsaken land we call South Dakota.
A pale blue seeps into the sky as the sun rises and starts taking the chill out of the morning air. Yesterday's rain has greened up the lawns and settled the dirt. Buds are bursting into leaves on the trees and bushes.
Heading out on the daily run, I have every reason to feel joyful, bounding across the miles carefree and effortless. And yet, every step feels leaden and tired.
As blessed and reaffirming as running is, the sport can be equal parts painful and depressing. How can it be that you feel like a gazelle one day and a sodden, lumpy piece of dead wood the next?
Other than the mirror or old photos, I know of nothing else that serves as such a cruel reminder that not only does life go on, but often times it just flat-out stomps on you from head to toe.
Days and weeks pass with a mixed blessing of runs good and bad, mediocre and forgetful, so at what point do you get to the tipping point?
Or, more importantly, how do you know it's not just a bad cycle of runs, but rather the start of the long, slow decline? When do you go from trying to improve to trying to hang on?
Running, like life in general, is much more enjoyable when you are feeling good, all powerful and ready to conquer the world. No one wants to slog through mile after painful mile, reminded every step of what once was and no hope offered for what will be.
The only comfort is to crawl back into bed, pull up the covers and push the aging, aching thoughts out of the head. Then, another new day appears on the horizon, seemingly like every day before it.
Within a few steps, though, instead of yearning for the couch, the body responds to what I am asking of it. Running feels not quite effortless, but not dreadful either.
The heart sings and the spirit soars. I'm back, and ready to fight on ... at least for another day.