If you’ve listened to sports talk radio or gone number one at a urinal recently, you’ve been seeing and hearing a lot about this “low-T” that tons of adult men are allegedly suffering from. Low-T stands for “low testosterone.” As a guy who once prided himself on Macho Man’ing beer pong tables, a turbocharged libido and the ability to put away a porterhouse in one sitting, this terrifies me.
I guess it’s just a part of getting older, right? I’m still in my mid-20s, and I have plenty of energy. Well, enough energy to workout two to four days a week and not fall asleep on the couch most days after work. They say that the signs of low-T don’t start showing up until you’re well over 30, but I can’t help but wonder when it’ll start affecting me.
Is ducking out of happy hour after only a couple of drinks a sign of low-T? Is my general apathetic, yet calm demeanor during rush hour a sign of my declining masculinity? Are these gray hairs making me look like George Clooney or Judge Smalls? Is my virility drying up faster than Donovan at the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade?
But perhaps the worst thing about all of this is that it is just a perpetual reminder that I’m not getting any younger. I’m barreling towards the cliffside of old-age. I’m an older guy, now. I have now been out of college longer than I was in college and am what most college-aged kids refer to as “old balls.” My balls are old. Testosterone comes from your balls. My T is getting old and less potent. Is that how it works? My testosterone is diluted with oldness, much like that carton of almond milk in the back of my fridge I bought two months ago.
Although, maybe low-T comes with its own set of hidden benefits. I’m pretty sure testosterone levels and your credit score are inversely proportional. I’ll just replace my soon-to-be-gone youthful vibrance with all sorts of 0% APR, same-as-cash, financed electronics. Weeklong benders will be replaced with a 72-inch smart TVs that I won’t have to pay off until 2020. Three nights of basketball and softball a week will be a distant memory once I get that 20-foot Bayliner Cruiser for $0 down to play with at that lake house I buy on a 10-year mortgage. Man. Can’t wait.
I will probably be more focused on the quality of women I pursue, rather than trying to hunt down anything in a miniskirt and heels that may resemble a woman. Don’t drink in excess while taking Viagra? Pffft. Like that ever killed anyone.
I’ll probably be less prone to fall for the pack mentality and become a better critical thinker. I’ll begin caring less about sports and more about fiscal responsibility. Perhaps possessions will soon begin making up for my lack of manliness.
But until that time comes, I’ll just be counting down the days, enjoying what’s left of my machismo, downing beers and pretending that I can still hack it like I used to and that my life soon won’t devolve into a Cialis commercial.
It’s like Tom Hanks said in Cast Away:
I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?
Well, let’s just hope the tide doesn’t bring low-T, Tom.