Early on the morning of my 35th birthday, following a routine run the night before, I was jolted awake by excruciating pain like hot shards of glass grinding into the arch of my foot.

Desperately needing aspirin, I crawled down the stairs, dragging my swollen, discolored foot behind me. After that sleepless night I limped around for a couple weeks and wasn't able to run again for months. And even then, the pain would force me to stop. As a busy parent, running had been an efficient way to stay fit, and I had become hooked on that satisfying runner's high. Now my worst fear about turning 35 had been realized; as happens to all aging athletes, my decline phase had begun.

Just as I began to resign myself to feeling sluggish and old, a childhood friend created an online group dedicated to skateboarding and invited guys from our hometown to join. Turns out, he too was experiencing a mini mid-life crisis and had decided to act. With a few dozen skaters gathered online, he issued a challenge to anyone who was still riding or willing to come out of retirement. Th e idea was simple, really: Snatch back that carefree, youthful spirit we adults seem to lose as our responsibilities grow. The idea moved me, so I doubled down on the injured foot and accepted the challenge to take one last shot at glory.

I never really quit skateboarding because I've always had a board at the ready. But as the years passed, my skateboard spent more time in the trunk of my car than under my feet. Once or twice a year I'd try a couple tricks in a vain effort to hold onto my diminished skills, but that's not skating. And more recently, my young sons and I have used my board as a sidewalk luge, zooming down the hill together, laughing as we wipeout gently in the grass—very fun but far from radical. Skateboarding is a humbling sport, but I was determined to prove that I could still ride. When I shared the idea with my wife, she was leery but supportive. However, her concerns for my safety were borne out during my first brutal month back on four wheels. I fell often and spent a lot of time on my back doubting myself. Each time I snuck away to skate I'd return home with a painter's palette of bruises, scraped knees, and bloody elbows. Every morning after a session, I’d stumble around stiff and sore like a pummeled prize fighter past his prime. But the pain was nothing compared to the elation I felt as my balance improved and I began landing more tricks. The more I skated, the more I realized that part of my identity had been riding around in the trunk for all those years.

As my confidence grew, I sought new places to skate behind shuttered retailed outlets and in darkened industrial parks. Nearby schools provided smooth asphalt and hidden loading docks to skate. However, my fi rst visit to a skate park was downright embarrassing. I was mortified to find the kids inside the fenced park were half my age and younger, so I sat on the bench outside the entrance with their mothers and mourned my lost youth. Eventually I summoned the nerve to roll in and give the ramps a try, but aft er a few hard falls bruised my ego as badly as my bones, I'd had enough. A teenager lift ed my spirits, though, by pointing out, "Hey, at least you can still drop in on a ramp."

So here I am, 35 years old and still skating. I may be self-conscious about my age, but I’m flowing on four wheels like a surfer riding a concrete wave, and that’s what it’s all about. Sure, the guys at the skate shop probably think I’m shopping for my kids, as my temples are more salt than pepper these days. But I’m living in the moment and having a blast. What can I say? I'm just an old skater taking one last shot at glory.

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MATTHEW KAISER
Matthew KAISER shares humorous stories about the light side of life on his blog, deliberatelyunintentional.blogspot.com. He lives in Springfield, VA with his beautiful wife and two young sons. You can reach him at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .