Im trying to think back to when I realized that I was actually getting older and I think it started happening after I hit the quarter century mark.
That was three years ago.
It was then that invincible feeling throughout my early 20s disappeared, forever I think, and left me with the cold realization that time is marching on whether I like it or not, and it certainly wont be slowing down for me.
Forget the fact that friends were starting to get married and have kids, buying houses, getting mortgages and generally "growing up."
There was of course the discovery of my first grey hair.
It was immediately yanked out but there was a sinking feeling that this was just the beginning, that more and more were on their way and I was powerless to stop them.
Then there were the little lines at the side of my eyes. They were my laugh lines I joked, but deep down I knew they were the first set of wrinkles, crinkling up my face.
Worse than wrinkles and grey hairs though was the fading ability to party until the wee hours in the morning.
Throughout university I could do it two, three, even four days in a row, and still get up for class in the morning.
Now its just not worth it.
Ive wasted whole days in bed, with pounding headaches, trying to stay perfectly still less my stomach revolt. Each time I promise never to spin the shooter wheel in Garfs ever again. Im just too old for that nonsense.
"We just cant party like we used to, accept it," said one friend recently.
I seem to forget this all the time and pay for it dearly.
Maybe Im just not ready to accept it.
I didnt even think about the fact that as time was creeping up on me in some fairly insignificant ways, it was also taking its toll on those around me, mostly my parents.
For the longest time they just seemed to stay the same. Forty, 50, 60 they didnt seem to be changing too drastically over the years.
Lets face it, when looking down the barrel at middle age from a youthful perspective, all the decades just seem to blend into each other.
They always looked and acted the same way to me.
And then this summer we got the news that my dad needed a triple bypass. The main artery to his heart was 90 per cent blocked. Sixty years of scoffing down bacon and eggs every weekend will do that to you I suppose.