Day 19: Old age and treachery

Day 19 miles to/from work: 26.8
Total miles for S4S: 490.4

Old age and treachery will
always overcome youth and skill.
                                                 -Proverb

Last Friday was the first day of autumn, and some of the trees took it as a personal challenge. Overnight parts of the landscape on my ride went from lush green to blazing yellow and red. I must have received the "change to blazing" memo too, and I'm feeling feisty. For instance, as I was enjoying pedaling to work this morning, I thought about how a couple people have written about my "peddling". Please note: I have nothing to sell. "Peddling my ass all over town" has a far different connotation than "pedaling" said ass all over town. See what I mean? Feisty.

Feisty can be fun and playful. But heaven help the one that gets on the wrong side of it. This afternoon I got an email about Planet Propaganda recruiting for a Zoot Sports Madison photo shoot: "very fit, athletic and attractive people (2 male, 2 female) that fit in size medium Zoot gear". Cool! I love Zoot athletic apparel and wear (i.e., purchase) a lot of it. In size medium. I looked at the attached specs. That's where it detailed ages 21-35 only. In other words, if you are 36 or older, you have dropped off Planet Propaganda and Zoot's radar as a valued demographic; and you need not apply. The only comfort I could find
in that is that even Diana Nyad—marathon swimmer, gorgeous, and 62—would have to get a special dispensation before they would consider her.

Ultimately I probably wouldn't have applied for the "modeling" assignment even if age had not been a factor. But the implied statement that anyone over 36 has no value to them hit me wrong, wrong, wrong. They were definitely on the wrong side of feisty. I went to the Zoot website and sent my views, citing the Madison photo shoot recruiting specs, by which they are ignoring the Boomer demographic—an important part of their customer base—and I would buy no more Zoot products until they clearly change that. I did not mention that I will be putting some kind of "Age Hater" prints on my current Zoot wear.

I sent a return email to the listserv from which the offending email originated, trying to be pleasant rather than shrill, but stating the same sentiments I had made to Zoot. (From that I have been receiving "me too" emails from other like-minded and like-aged athletes. One 50-year-old male said he had worn all Zoot attire and shoes when he did the 140.6 miles of Ironman Wisconsin triathlon earlier this month, but "I certainly can and will spend my money elsewhere.")

I wasn't through. When ageism runs rampant, "who ya gonna call"? The obvious choice is that stalwart of seniors and activist for advanced age—the Ghostbusters, as it were, of ageism. AARP. This is where it started getting weird. It seems that there is not an employee of AARP who is even close to the age of 50, let alone over, despite the membership requirement of being 50+. After I talked to two 20somethings whose IQs were possibly lower than their cumulative number of years on earth, I started asking to speak to "anyone who works there who is over the age of 50". I talked to seven people. All of them younger than my oldest pair of running shorts. Number Eight was Tina, a manager who may have been pushing 40. She was so helpful, I finally gave up my search for the mythical AARP half-centenarian employee. Tina was able to give me the email address where I could send the Zoot/Planet Propaganda information, express my views, and send documenting attachments. What the hell, drink the Kool Aid—I joined AARP. Tina helped me with that too.

My ride home was feisty-fueled (somewhere on the scale between rocket juice and atomic energy), enhanced with slightly more blue sky than clouds and even the occasional cameo appearance by El Sol. Silver Beauty and I cranked, pounded, and got a major workout; and I still had feisty fuel left over to run Jazz 3 miles. So ends the day. I came, I saw, I biked, I ran the dawg. I am now a card-carrying AARP member. I have money, and I know where to spend it—and where not to. Let The Revolution begin.