Forty-five was a tough year for me. Sure, I’ve been complaining about getting old for a few years now — I am after all on track to achieve my childhood dream of becoming an old curmudgeon, earning immunity to say whatever I want during Thanksgiving dinners– but this past year confirmed my mortality in an all-too-garish ways.

Among the litany:

• My thinning hair reached a tipping point where my scalp is now among the body parts requiring sunblock
• I was diagnosed with my first basal cell carcinoma (skin cancer)
• Every new chest hair now comes out gray. I’ve become a “silver-front”
• I developed tennis elbow by just leaning on it while using a laptop in bed
• I dislocated my surgically repaired left-shoulder via a gentle fall while skiing

But most depressing of all, this was the year I lost the “spring in my step”. This is actually something one can feel: taking steps two at a time isn’t quite as effortless as it once was, jumping isn’t springy, running is now a chore. In general, it seems gravity got a little stronger this past year.

Enter a mid-life crisis of obvious recognition: It’s only going to get worse unless I do something about it. This blog is an attempt to chronicle that effort. The summer Olympics are upon us, and I’ve drawn upon them not just to inspire my own fitness routine, but also to devise a method of marking my progress. I’ll detail that in a subsequent entry.