To be a 24/7 vain diva is for the young. Can she age out of it?

My recurring mantra, “I’m too old for this,” has once again reared its silvery head. This time, the phrase emerged at a Corporate Challenge 5K race.

The funny part is, I didn’t even participate. My husband was the one lacing up the racing shoes. A natural athlete, if he lives to 110, he will still be running and crushing it. I was there to give him moral support — and to hold his wallet.

As we were driving to the race, I thought, who wakes up before dawn on an unusually cold May morning? To struggle for a parking spot at a logjam event? On a Saturday? This scenario is generally doable, but when a person my age struggles to get enough sleep, it is also stupid.

I compensated by snoozing until the last minute. The plan was logical, but I surprised myself with the execution. In order to be both a supportive spouse and to eke out as much REM as possible, I would jump out of bed and totally skip the glam routine. My style would include a makeup-free face, ponytail, baseball cap, thick glasses (mine are the thickest) and newly minted stress wrinkles. I completed the look by grabbing the previous day’s outfit from the top of the to-do laundry pile. It was kind of a rush.

All of the above is so not me. I prefer to appear in public somewhat put together. Not Instagram influencer level — I just strive to appear unfrightening. Even that takes time and effort.

But on this brisk morning, I weighed the risk of looking like a bespectacled Christopher Walken and running into people I know. I thought back to many other races and citywide gatherings. I remembered the disappointment of not bumping into friends or acquaintances. So I figured there would be no way I’d see any familiar folks. I’m not corporate. I’m not a competitive runner. This was a multi-county event, not a neighborhood fun run. I was safe.

Or so I thought. That morning, my Christopher Walken doppelganger morning, I ran into a half dozen folks I know. I was sensing double takes with each encounter. I tried to smile hard for an instant face lift. But not too hard or I’d coax even more wrinkles. Just enough to disappear the jowls. It’s a delicate balance. All the while, with every hello, I was picturing others’ internal dialogues: “I guess that’s Denise. What on earth happened to her? Did she accidentally walk into a human-sized air fryer?”

Behold a couple of new mathematical formulas: The odds of running into people you know are directly proportional to how much you look like you just rolled out of bed, times infinity. Also, any shred of ego one has left after a lifetime of motherhood and being a caregiver/support person will get completely zeroed out while milling around a bunch of athletes.

I convinced myself, on the ride home, who cares? To be a 24/7 vain diva is for the young. Why worry about consistently appearing polished and fashionable? Mantra: I’m too old for that. I took a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief. Wisdom and serenity might have finally washed over me. I was feeling so free!

Until I pulled down the passenger side visor to glance in the mirror. My glasses were noticeably smudged and spotted. Like, a lot. I probably grabbed them too quickly in the rush to leave, and perhaps when I frantically spit out toothpaste some faucet water splashed back on the lenses. How did I not notice that whole time?

Apparently, I still care about what others think of my appearance. Will I ever reach an unbothered state of unglamorous/spotted specs eccentricity? Clearly, I still have work to do.

But life is not a 5K. It’s a marathon. I’m all about endurance. In that sense, I feel like I’m winning.

Reach Denise Snodell at stripmalltree@gmail.com