So this was my Saturday...

I haven't competed at fencing for a long while. I just go to my club and fence for fun.

But the club was having a  just-for-fun kind of tournament for members only, and because I wanted to support the salle with the entry fee, and because I had my arm twisted a little bit, I decided what the hell, I'll go in.

As I was driving my sixty-four year-old self there this morning, I wasn't expecting to do all that well. I knew one of my fellow competitors was a fencer in his early forties and that all the rest were teenagers.

Now, an optimist would have said that having years of experience on all these people should give me some sort of edge. But the fact of the matter is, the younthful fencers have the energy and reflexes of the young. If many cases, they train seriously and take private lessons as I have not for many years. Plus, I just wasn't feeling particular warlike. So I wasn't crazy about my chances.

Anyway, I stopped at Wendy's to get a litltle something to eat before proceeding to the salle. As I placed my order, the teenage young lady at the register asked me, "Do you want the senior drink?"

"I don't know," I replied. "How old do you have to be to qualify for that?"

"I'm not sure," she said, "but it's for the elderly."

THE ELDERLY! Which, based on my appearance, she was certain that I was! How demoralizing is that?

Anyhow, I ate my BBQ pork sandwich, went on to the salle, and over the course of the afternoon, and much to my surprise, managed to take first place.

So thank you, fencing, for making me feel that no matter how geriatric and decrepit I may look to fast-food employees, the grave isn't yawning at my feet quite yet.