The older I get, the more evident it becomes (to me) that my physiology is changing. Those physical aspects of who I am seem to be trying to outpace my actual chronological age.

I am 52 years old. By society’s standards, I am now classified as middle-aged. I guess the reasoning is that the base reference point for that determination is 100 years and I have surpassed the half-century mark. Symptoms of grey hair, wrinkles, and those alien-induced handlebars of love, all seem bent on displacing our once-treasured temples of health and vitality.