(reposted from my journal, July 8, 2007)

The continental drift of my inevitable physical decline has become noticable, despite a life-long commitment to fitness. After weeks of research and searching, I made a few calls, set an appointment. Tomorrow I meet with a local Muay Thai instructor. I have in my mind the nebulous goal of getting in the ring, to stand in front of that cave, to pit myself against another, engage my neolithic synapses, and see who walks away.

I'm self-aware enough to recognize a mid-life crises. I'm a software engineering manager, married, two kids, nice house, good salary, and -- except for a few isolated incidents in my early youth (hey, they started it) -- not someone who engages in physical violence on any level. I can't ratonalize the desire or even say for sure where it comes from. Anger stemming from the encroaching awareness of my mortality and the inevitable physical infirmities of old age? Maybe.... But it's more simple than that, I think, less philosophical.

I want to strip away the modern clutter infringing on and diluting my maleness, to break free from all the rules and distractions that continually assail me and wrap me in society's straightjacket. I want to relish in the single-minded expression of my genetic heritage of survival violence.

"Can't you just get a sports car?" my wife asked.

"How about an affair with a younger woman?"

"Take the Muay Thai lessons," she replied.