Getting old is a bitch!

They won’t let me fly their jet fighters anymore.

The day after I no longer pulled 5-6 Gs (or more) multiple times every day, my middle started expanding. It hasn’t stopped. First my toes disappeared, and then the equipment in the Nether Regions disappeared except on outstanding occasions. My feet might as well be in China. My toenails are turning into claws.

The ladies no longer look at my ass as I walked by.

My eye sight started to fade. I once had the best vision of anyone I ever flew with except Chuck Yeager. He could see another aircraft at 60 miles and I could not see it until 50 miles. And he was older than me. I guess that is why he was an Ace.

The music has faded. Twenty five years in close proximity of screaming jet engines will do more damage to your hearing than a rock band. The VA gave me some very nice hearing aids but I don’t wear the damned things. I don’t want to look like an old man. However, it can be a blessing when I piss off my room mate.

My prostate started to enlarge and I have to pee every 5 minutes. Speaking of which: The pressure is too low, the hose is too short, the shut off valve is unreliable, and the nozzle is set on spray. I find it advisable to sit down to pee to avoid getting Wet Foot Syndrome. I know the location of every publically accessible bathroom within 100 miles.

My gyro tumbled and I have vertigo. I have had it many times while flying in Instrument Flight Rules (IFR) weather but this is different. This is Visual Flight Rules (VFR) weather all the time. I walk like a drunken sailor. My golfing days are over. My back swing would put me flat of my back. A walker may not be far in the future.

If I were to find myself on the ground in the middle of an empty Walmart parking lot, I would not be able to get up onto my feet. The legs are just not there anymore. I would have to crawl to a shopping cart or fence to pull myself up.

My smoking days finally caught up with me and I have emphysema/COPD. I used to cuss while climbing out returning from North Vietnam if I was so high that my Zippo lighter would not light so I could have a smoke to help me come down from an adrenalin high. I have had to go on oxygen in order to have enough to live. It is a real bummer to have to haul a bottle of O2 around with me when I go out of the house. I wear a nose harness at home and drag a plastic tube around and an oxygen concentrator out in the garage runs 24/7. The tube is always snagging on something or someone steps on the damn thing and it almost jerks me ears off. Don’t get me wrong. I like oxygen. I used to really like it after a night of serious partying when I had an early morning mission. As soon as I got into the cockpit I went on 100% O2 for startup, taxi, and weapons arming pit. By the time I had wheels up I was ready to fight.

 My sex life is 99.9% in my head. But I think that is pretty normal for the male population which thinks about sex on the average about every 10 seconds. At least that has always been my average.

And they won’t let me fly their jet fighters anymore.

Getting old is a bitch.

Some after Thoughts:

Some people wonder why old fighter pilots (there are no Ex Fighter Pilots) miss flying high performance jets so much. A couple of examples:

1.  I start up, taxi out and line up on the centerline of a 10,000 foot runway. I throttle up to full power, release the brakes and go into afterburner. There is a huge shove against my back that pins my helmet against the back headrest. The runway streaks under me faster and faster. At flying speed I raise the gear to get the wheels free of the earth. Flaps up. Sink down a foot or two until the end of the runway and then the field boundary flashes underneath and I pull the nose up to point to the sky and freedom. The horizon rapidly expands and after about three minutes and 6-7 miles above the earth I come out of burner, roll inverted and at zero Gs let the nose slowly drift down to the horizon. I look out the top of my canopy at the earth far below and think about all those pedestrian assholes down there that will never know what true joy is.

2.  I complete my mission in North Vietnam and climb out South toward home base far away. I have to go to 53,000 feet in order to have enough fuel to make it. Once there, the adrenalin is subsiding and I turn off my cockpit lights to enjoy the view. There is not one light visible an the ground. But above: Oh my God!! It is unbelievable! The sight is not describable. Only God could have created something like this. The stars and galaxies are so bright that I do not need cockpit lights to read my instruments.  This is something that an old fighter pilot cannot forget and it is only one of thousands of memories that only an Old Fighter Pilot can have.

And the won’t let me fly their jet fighters anymore.