No, just old, not terminal. Not yet. Hope still courses in my veins buoyed by the passion for the kind of experience not normally sought for one this old: I want to do an ironman. It's crazy. Yes, of course. And it's crazy too to think that God is behind it; wants me go for it; will bless me even in likely failure.
Oh yes, times I really think this is crazy myself. Times I really want to lay this journey aside. The temptation to quit this altogether haunts me like a ghost, And maybe someday I will buckle and go under, but not today. Tomorrow I will wake up and fights the demons again that say quit this silliness and become terminally sane. Do the sane thing here: live, follow the beaten path, check all the proper boxes, and die quietly without too much noise or trouble.
There is only quiet in the cemetery; dreams lay silent with us there. What is to be lost in failing at something far over our heads? What do we have to lose that won't be lost ? And how much hope, passion, and life itself might have been squandered if our end finds us in a state of terminal sanity.