The photos arrived to me shortly after finishing the Valencia Marathon, and in all of them they appeared with the same gesture: biting the medal. They are friends and acquaintances, and even some family members, all men, who thus showed their satisfaction at finishing a tough test, of great physical and mental demand, and which has become one of the greatest challenges for many of those who took the EGB. . I'm talking, at least, about the guys I know, who are not few. Until a few years ago, some showed obvious physical deterioration at around fifty years of age for objective reasons; You know, a sedentary life, a voracious appetite (witnessed by the bulging stomachs they endured), a lot of alcohol and a lot of tobacco. But now, approaching sixty years old, they are extremely thin, athletic, they talk about the minutes in which they manage to cover a kilometer, about diets with a lot of protein, about 200 euro sneakers; They don't smoke and barely drink.
I call it the "male boomer metamorphosis", because it goes beyond wanting to have, as the "experts" say, a second youth, although it is not exactly that. It seems more like an assumption that time is against us, or that we are in discount time, which is the same thing, and that there are contained desires that now dare to be embraced. The "running" of marathons would be, seeking a simile, like that climb to Everest or similar that only those with many financial resources can afford, at the risk of losing a finger due to frostbite. But there are more sports variables, from the bicycle (a classic) or the addiction to the gym. There are those who skip the sport and choose to buy a large displacement motorcycle, preferably a BMW or Honda, even if they have not ridden a scooter larger than 125 cc in their entire life. Go on a Sunday at 8 in the morning to fill up with gas and observe the profiles of most of those who are preparing the day's getaway: white hair and a lot of baldness, most of them.
Another facet that awakens at the time when, due to age, you are asked for a colonoscopy is, in this geography, the passion for cooking Valencian paellas, and various rice dishes. Surely I am part of this group that has late discovered the pleasure of giving shape to a very patriarchal tradition. Most of the men I know never visit the kitchen except on holidays to demonstrate that we have the ability to combine meats and vegetables in order to achieve the desired paella, almost as a gesture of bravery (if it turns out badly, the criticism may be painful). Afterwards, you know, we take the usual photos, we post them on social networks and we wait for friends to tell us "what does it look like", "save me some Tupperware". The rest of the week we are, let's say, not very given to work on the counter, with exceptions.
The last thing I wanted to talk to you about, I don't know if it can be described as a "boomer metamorphosis" or if it is simply the natural evolution of a certain way of understanding some men's relationships with women. I'm talking about those who, when the time comes, want to recover lost vitality with a relationship with a much younger woman. Literature and cinema have spoken to us, and speak to us, about a universal reality that has translation into our environments in many ways. I even know someone who, at the age of being worried about his prostate, has remarried and started a new family, fabulous; He has merit. There are also those who maintain the marriage but want to test whether they still have the resources to play the game of seduction with a lover, preferably 10 or even 20 years younger. And don't tell me you don't know of cases.
There are many other ways to observe these changes, sometimes radical, that fuel many afternoon gatherings. I believe, and it is just an observation exercise, that in general they mature and age better than them, and I am not referring so much to the physical aspect as to the psychological one. And if I'm wrong, please correct me.
