"You so don't look that old"

I rode up on the ski lift the other day with two teenage boys. "Do you mind if I put the bar down?" I asked. "No, my mom does that, it's totally fine," said one.

A few minutes later, I pulled off my helmet and goggles to adjust my hat, and the other said, "how old are you?"

"37."

"You so don't look that old."

Hmmm. I hadn't really thought of myself as old. But thanks, I guess?

I am a lot older than the person I identify with when I click into my skis — a version of myself a decade younger, back when skiing was part of my regular repertoire. At 27, I sought out mogul-filled descents way above my skill level and hollered with glee all the way down the hill. Now, I like an intermediate slope where I can practice my form, and my goal is to return to the bottom of the hill intact so that I can, you know, drive my kids to school.

I'm grateful for my healthy and working body — I notice it, whereas when I was younger, I just took it for granted. I suppose that's the age-old tale. (Punny in the worst way.)