Over the weekend before JULY 4TH, my friend L followed the
Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run, which to many of
these crazy runners was THE event. He sent me a video
showing great views of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and
perfect forms of a few front runners. Monday morning, this
gave us a lot to talk about. On the Web, he traced down the
oldest finisher (68) who did it in about 26 hours. "See how
good he looks!" L bubbled with the enthusiasm of a teenager.

I understood. The guy gave L (and whoever so inspired and
uplifted by his example) hope, the hope of a strong spirit
to face the later years of life. It was like what Andy in
Shawshank prison said, "hope is a good thing, maybe the best
of things."

This reminded me of my own obsession with looks these years.
(I wanted to look like Bruce Lee.) Wisdoms like "Don't judge
a book by its cover" must exist in many cultures. They are
true, and in fact, I used them to justify my out-of-shape
existence in the past. After I turned 40, however, the 
pendulum has swung to the opposite side and another profound
truth started to slowly manifest itself. It's not that I'm 
ready to practice the ancient Chinese art of face-reading.
Nonetheless, these days I think looks are (almost) everything.

And I am not alone.
    It is said that Abraham Lincoln, when he was President
    of the U.S., was advised to include a certain man in his
    cabinet. When he refused he was asked why he would not
    accept him. "I don't like his face," the President 
    replied. "But the poor man isn't responsible for his
    face," responded his advocate. "Every man over forty is
    responsible for his face" countered Lincoln.
    
According to Orwell, "at 50, everyone has the face he
deserves." But L must be an outlier to this model. He
started running at 52 and ran his first 50km after three
years. And today, he looked much better than eight years
ago. I joked he was the last one admitted before they shut
the door.