I just noticed that I am now 50

Last month I turned 50 years old. A lot of people turn 50. More now than ever in human history, as a matter of fact.

It's interesting to think that life expectancy for American men in 1900 was about 46 years. It is now pushing 79.

As my favorite author Bill Bryson puts it in his (excellent) new book "The Body: A Guide for Occupants," that's not because men in 1900 were turning 46 and immediately keeling over. It's because so many children died in infancy, pulling down the overall average.

Still, at the turn of the 20th century, once you hit 50, you started living on borrowed time to a very real extent. Chances were good that an infectious disease of some sort would eventually get you.

Nowadays we've conquered most of those infectious diseases. We just die of heart disease and cancer instead.

All of which is to say, while I feel blessed to live in an age when men are living to nearly 80 on average (and woman beyond that), you can't help but notice once you turn 50 that, mathematically speaking, you are very likely on the downhill side of your personal roller coaster ride through life.

How far you actually make it is largely influenced by your lifestyle choices, of course, but also by genetics. People who live to 100 and beyond usually have relatives who also lived to 100, or at least close to it.

As the saying goes, if you would live long, choose your parents well.

I should mention here that it's not like I think about dying all the time. I rarely do, actually. But the thought does cross my mind with at least a bit more frequency now than, say, when I was 30.

When you're 30, you can reasonably expect that another half century will pass and you'll still be here.

When you're 50, it feels like you're asking for a lot if you expect another 50 years. It happens, of course, and medical science is getting better all the time at extending your stay on this planet. But living to 100 often takes a very deliberate effort to live to 100.

For those who get there, it's usually because they lived in a way that was conducive to longevity.

I do some things well when it comes to personal health, while I slack on others. That's probably how most of us are.

The most powerful anti-aging factor I likely have in my corner is simply that I have a good time. I mean in general. I just really like life, and specifically the life I happen to lead.

Yeah, I complain regularly about this or that. But all things considered, I kind of hit the jackpot when it comes to personal circumstances and overall contentment.

I have it good. I'm very blessed. I enjoy myself day in and day out.

I don't yet have the kind of health issues that become common as you age. I have no chronic pain, I have no diabetes, I have no cancers of which I'm aware, my organs all function more or less pretty well, and I feel good when I get up in the morning.

That changes with time, I understand, but I run regularly, which I know helps a lot. I've let my weight creep back up lately so I have to address that, and I have a genetic predisposition toward high blood pressure that has me on a very low-dose prescription medication (at least until I get those BP numbers back down naturally, at which point I would like to ditch the lisinopril).

But taken as a whole, I'm in a pretty good physical state. I don't even (yet) need reading glasses, though like I always say, that's coming.

It is, like all things, a matter of perspective. People older than 50 would love to be 50 again, and people younger than 50 dread it. I get it, especially now that I'm transitioning from one of those groups to the other.

50 may be the new 40, but I'm not even sure what that means.

All I know is, I'm starting to have to pee a lot more than I used to. And if I have to complain about anything associated with advancing middle age, I'm going with that.

Worrying about my health is making me unhealthy

Had he not passed away suddenly in the fall of 1999, my father would have turned 84 years old today.

I'm only being honest when I say I would have been shocked had my dad made it to 84.

For one thing, he smoked for decades. I hated that. I've always hated smoking. I think it's filthy, disgusting and stupid. It's one of the relatively few things that I'm unequivocally against.

Smoking and Cleveland-born Steelers fans. They both rank low on my list.

There were a few years in the early 80s when my dad smoked only pipes, and I could live with that. It wasn't really any healthier than cigarettes, but it definitely smelled better. I loved to open his tobacco pouch and take a whiff.

But he went back to cigarettes sometime later, and I'm sure the little cancer sticks were instrumental in the heart attack that eventually killed him.

He also had a good-sized belly. As far back as I can remember, my dad had that belly. Which isn't a surprise when you consider what he regularly ate (fried meats, straight buttermilk, etc.)

Simply put, he was the product of a time and place where people didn't pay much attention to the dangers of such things, either because they didn't know or they didn't care.

None of this paints a very pretty picture of my dad, but he really was a great guy. And an excellent father. I wouldn't trade the 30 years I had with him for anything.

But there's a part of that is determined not to follow in my father's footsteps.

As I've mentioned here before, I worry quite a bit about my lifestyle. Am I eating right? Am I exercising enough? Is my weight acceptable? How about my cholesterol?

Actually, the fact that I "worry" so much about those things is a bit of a problem. Increasingly, it seems, medical researchers are finding a direct link between the way we manage stress and the length and quality of our existence.

I have quite a bit of stress in my life. Or at least I see it as stress, which is essentially the same thing. I've gotten better in recent years at dealing with it, but I still have a long way to go.

More than once, I've considered taking a tai chi class at our local community center. I could attend eight two-hour classes for just $39, which seems like a good deal. I hear great things about tai chi in terms of its physical, mental, spiritual, and stress-relieving benefits.

But I've never taken the class. Every time a new session starts, I come up with some excuse not to give it a try. "I don't have time," I'll say, or, "The morning runs I do are enough to keep me healthy."

Still, something tells me I'll be needing some outside help in the stress management department. No amount of planning or to-do lists is going to teach me how better to deal with the curveballs that life inevitably throws at each of us.

The thing is, I don't often ask for help in anything. Not for the typical male reasons of pride or anything. It's usually just because asking for help takes time, and I have this illusion that I have no extra time whatsoever.

And it really is just that - an illusion. When people say they don't have time to exercise, you'll often hear personal trainers and doctors reply, "Well, do you have time for clogged arteries and chronic disease? Because that's where you're headed if you don't make time to take care of yourself."

The same holds true for stress. I'm afraid that if I don't make time to learn how to deal with it, it will very quickly catch up with me. And I don't want to think of what that's going to mean.

Of course, this all raises the question of just how long you want to live. Some people justify their unhealthy habits by saying they don't want to get to 95 years old anyway if it means life in a nursing home where you're unable to take care of yourself.

Others will tell you it doesn't need to be that way. That eating well and taking care of yourself will make even the last years of your life happy and relatively healthy.

Whatever the answer, I don't really have a "goal age" in mind. I just want to be around long enough to raise my children, be active with my grandchildren, and maybe see a Cleveland sports team finally win a championship.

I know, I know. I'm getting greedy with that last one.