As she gazes at the nape of my neck a serene smile crosses over her studious features.
“So much grey already.”
“It’s about time”, I casually reply. Before adding “I’m old”.
Susan has been cutting my hair for years so she rightfully feels at ease in gently chiding me. But before now she has never asked my age. It would appear however that the time for such coyness has past and Susan point blank asks just how old I am.
When I match her bluntness with my own matter of fact rejoinder her eyes bulge in wonder and I appreciate the compliment within her obvious astonishment.
“But how?” she manages to sputter.
“I run. A lot.”
She takes in the simplicity of my proffering but it either fails to register or she just decides simply to change tact.
“You know you could dye your hair.”
“Maybe some other time.” I counter.
Though truth be told I have no interest in colouring my hair. Ever since People magazine featured a “Hurray For Gray” instalment in their annual Sexiest Man Alive issue I’ve been more interested in being handsome professor than boyish undergrad.
Besides, I far prefer to have my elixir of youth come via health and fitness than through any bottle.
And so I continue to run. In fact, tomorrow I will cross the 5,000 kilometre mark for my running this year. A first for me. Which proves that maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks. Even if you can’t dye its fur/hair.