How old AM I?

“It’s not the years, honey, it’s the mileage.”

This classic line by Indiana Jones is going through my mind a lot this week, as I have a birthday looming. I’m going to be, I dunno, forty-something. On paper, it’s really not that old, but, seriously, there isn’t a part of my body that doesn’t feel old. I’ve been feeling low lately, partly because of this “age versus mileage” disparity. If you’ve read my book, When Life Throws You Lemons…Make Cranberry Juice!, you’d know that I try to look for, and accept, life’s cranberries in spite of life’s lemons. Getting old: physically, mentally or chronologically is a lemon. I needed to look for a cranberry to balance this lemon. I remembered a story I wrote about in my book:

I went to a Monday Night Football game, hosted by the Houston Texans, with my family just after Thanksgiving, 2008. As Matt’s guests, we parked and entered the stadium through areas designated for players’ families. Once inside, we had a long walk to our seats, so an employee brought me a wheelchair. When I finally got to my seat, I stayed put the entire game.

After the game, the wheelchair guy came back and took me to the player’s post-game reception. We met up with Matt at the reception, but before he got comfortable, Abby asked him if we could go on the field. Abby and Andy had never been on a football field, and they had wanted to go on one for years. We walked out onto the field and it was awesome. We looked at the spot where Matt had tried to throw a touchdown pass, and the spot where the ball was kicked for field goals.

Then, my sister Stephanie asked me if Steve Young was an announcer for Monday night games.

I said, “He might be. Why?”

She said, “I think he’s right over there.”

He was. Steve Young was on the other side of the field, conductingpost-game interviews.

I hobbled across the field, towards the bright television lights, moving faster than I had moved in two and a half years. He was busy working, so I was not able to say hello to him again, but feeling that rush of adrenaline that made me nearly run across the football field worked more magic than a week’s worth of prozac! Part of me was still a woman. Part of me could still get goose bumps over a man. Part of me was still ambitious enough to chase down Steve Young. Part of me was still alive.

Yes, reliving any of my “Steve Young” stories can lift my spirits.

What lifts yours?