You know, of course, the theory that time slows down as you approach the speed of light. There's the great old image of twins, one of whom stays on Earth while the other travels in space at near light speed. When the space voyageur returns, she is about the same age as when she left, while her twin has aged and has adult grandchildren.
I experienced something similar, though reversed, yesterday. Ecstatic about our warming weather I jumped on my trusty bicycle and rode down Southeast Boulevard toward downtown Spokane, in pursuit of fresh coffee beans and, ostensibly, the fountain of youth. The only problem? There's a hill in Spokane.
Yes, we have a hill, and though I more or less merrily rode down and up it many times during the summer of '08, this is now the spring of '09, and I haven't been riding at all. Perhaps choosing an assault on South Hill as a training ride was ill-advised. The downhill portion was exhilarating, which left only the return trip.
This brings me to the title of this post. No, I am not completely addled. I know my date of birth to be April 30, 1952. But there is something about attempting significant elevation gain on a bicycle that results in rapid aging....
or at least the awareness that time is marching on.