Mid-life crisis. In three parts.

Start of 12-hour run. If it looks like I am going slow ... I am.

This morning, I officially turn 50 years old. The big 5-0. Eligible for AARP. The Back Nine. Over the Hill. Old Man. Ripe for a mid-life crisis. Yeah. All of that.

Oh. About that mid-life crisis. A lot of guys I know have turned 50 over the past few months and years. Here is a summary of some of their mid-life crisis checkpoints upon approaching or hitting the half-century mark:

--Purchase a muscle-car or a sports car. You know. An old-school Corvette, Camaro, Mustang. Maybe a small BMW or Mercedes. Something like that. This task takes first place in my unscientific research on male, mid-life crises.

--Purchase a motorcycle. A close second. Was an intriguing idea for me, until Heidi rightfully squashed it.

--Purchase a boat. A pretty close third.

--Make other radical changes to their lives, usually having rather destructive effects on their marriages or other family relationships. Fortunately, this comes in last, but it does happen.

Well. Not being a mainstream sort of guy, I have chosen none of these paths during this rather torturous run-up to my 50^th birthday. (Side note: The outpouring of support, excitement and party planning that have surrounded this birthday has been greatly appreciated and it has made this otherwise introspective milestone a lot of fun, and I look forward to celebrating this big number with many of you in the coming hours and days). Rather than the traditional, checking account draining activities that usually accompany a man turning 50 or otherwise pondering mortality around this age, I have chosen a different – and literally very well-worn, as you will see shortly – path. This summer, I have returned to participating in (note that I did not say “running” for fear of annoying the purists out there) ultra marathons. But rather than doing the lung-searing and extremely challenging 50- or 100-mile trail races at altitude (like my friend Bob Sweeney did so well a few weeks ago out at Leadville), or any of the other extreme type events like the Spartan Death Race or Tough Mudder or stuff like that, my ultra experiences of late are limited to timed ultras on fixed/closed loops. If it sounds a bit repetitious and mind-numbing, well yes, it is.

Somehow, some way, I have forged a niche on these endless loops and amazingly I have become somewhat competitive (relatively speaking) in these races. I like routine. I like repetition. I have a gift for going really slow but not slowing down and never, ever stopping (except for short bathroom breaks). Hey. Don’t worry. I’m not going to give you play-by-play of my run/walk/run/walk endless laps. It’s like NASCAR -- only a lot slower, a lot older, and much less noisy. But, for those keeping score at home, I will tell you that I ran three ultras in three months this summer:

1-The Broadway Ultra Society Joe Kleinerman 12-hour run in Bayside, Queens, on June 7, held on a loop that was just shy of 1 mile (0.9704 of a mile). My goal was to cover at least 50 miles to celebrate 50 years. I was able to reach that goal in about 10 hours and 30 minutes, and I staggered to a final mileage total of 51.43 miles, earning a small plaque that was given to all finishers completing at least 45 miles.

2-The Broadway Ultra Society Pajama Romp 6-hour run in Astoria, Queens, on July 26, held on a hilly loop that was 1.2762 miles. I covered just less than 26 laps, 33.1 miles, and got a nice trophy for placing in the top-10 overall. This race ended at 11 p.m., so the biggest challenge was not so much slowing down as it was staying awake out there.

3-The Sweltering Summer Ultra 8-hour run in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, on August 9, held on a dirt track measuring exactly .3553746428 of a mile. This event (note that I don’t call them “races”) was my primary focus all along, having done the 6-hour version of this event in 2013, really enjoying it immensely, and lighting that long-dormant ultra spark in me. This year, I was fortunate to cover 125

laps (44.42183035 miles) and earn a nice trophy clock (pictured here) for being the top master’s finisher.

So. Yeah. That’s a lot of laps and a lot of miles, a lot of tedium, and a fair amount of fatigue and certainly some ugly toenails. Many runners embrace entering a new age group so they can get a rejuvenated competitiveness by being the young person in the group. That ship has long since sailed for me, a slow guy in races of mainstream distances; I’m just not all that good anymore.

But sometimes, slow and steady and never stopping has its benefits. Keep moving forward. Stop only when necessary. Keep moving forward. Stop when necessary. Keep moving forward. These are pretty good lessons to learn around your 50^th birthday.