When Tim Lincecum talked about age catching up with him, almost everyone else in the room had to stifle a laugh. He won't turn 28 until June, and he'd still need ID to get a drink in any bar tended by a non-baseball fan.

Lincecum wore a gray sweatshirt with its hood pulled over a baseball cap, a fashion typically favored by teens who feel like hiding from the world. But surrounded by media the day before the Giants' FanFest last weekend, he seemed more at ease than he has in a while.

A year ago, Lincecum seemed self-conscious, all too aware that he lived in a gilded fish bowl. In his first four major-league seasons, he won two Cy Young Awards and a World Series. How could he top that? He couldn't, especially not after a collision knocked his catcher out for most of the year.

When Lincecum talked about Buster Posey, he didn't hesitate to use salty language in describing how their rapport worked. Last year, he might have opted for a primmer, censored version, reining in the instinct that prompted him to drop an F-bomb on live television after the Giants won their division. But prim isn't in his nature. So, without a live shot to consider, all he cared about was establishing that his re-creation of the dialogue didn't reflect exactly what Posey had said.

"There's times when if I'm not getting a call, I'm pissed in my mind ... and the way he just comes out there ... all this stuff reminds me of my dad in a way," Lincecum said. "He woke me up. ... It's not the specific words he said. But it's like, 'Would you rather be sitting in the f-ing dugout or would you rather be pitching? F-ing playing ball or not playing ball?' ... And you'd be like, yeah, I want to stay in this game, and the whole demeanor would change."

Back in the 2010 postseason, Lincecum conceded that he needed time to adjust to the young replacement for big brotherly Bengie Molina, his battery mate for the first three-plus years of his career. In part, he said, he didn't think a rookie catcher could be as self-assured and forceful as Posey proved to be.

"That's one of the things I admire about him," Lincecum said. "He didn't have a problem telling me I was doing something wrong, even though I was supposed to be this two-time Cy Young winner when he first came up."

As he said "two-time Cy Young winner," Lincecum's voice dropped into a dismissive tone and he made air quotes around the words. He won both before he turned 26, and had to negotiate a healthy divide between taking his work seriously and not taking himself seriously.

He also had to learn to sift useful grains out of conventional baseball wisdom. The bulk of it said that Lincecum ultimately would be doomed by his lithe physique and unorthodox delivery. For obvious reasons, he culled the advice cautiously.

When he faded in August 2010, he started doing stamina exercises he hadn't tried (as recommended by other pitchers) and added a slider (a classically Lincecum innovation). In the offseason, he added about 15 pounds to his frame, which weighed 160 at the end of the 2010 season.

Pounds usually melted off him through a baseball season, but he kept gaining this time, he said, all the way up to 187. He didn't like feeling so heavy on the mound, and his ankles and knees absorbed a shock whenever he landed.

"Most people couldn't tell, because the uniform is baggy," he said.

Lincecum went home to Seattle and tacked on 9 more pounds, bringing on a spare tire that prompted a lot of teasing from his father, Chris. The two of them hadn't imagined a day when putting on weight would be too easy for him. All of a sudden, he had an adult metabolism.

He quickly set his mind on dropping down to 175, he said, and his weight sits there today. He started swimming in a moving-water pool in his condo building, and he tweaked his diet. His love of In-N-Out double-double burgers had to be downgraded to a fondness. He discovered a finer palate once he stopped honoring all his fast-food cravings.

"You take your first bite of a McDonald's burger and it's like, 'Why did I buy this?' " Lincecum said. "You feel instantly sick. That's what ended up happening with all these places. ... I take a bite and I'm like, 'I can't even finish this.' I'm not crushing vegetables by any means, but I'm definitely eating better."

To explain his new eating regimen, he pulled aside the hood of his sweatshirt and revealed the design on his baseball cap, the logo for Tacolicious, a Marina restaurant that serves carnitas to his taste. He's only 27. When age caught up with him, he didn't have to be its captive. If anything, it might have made him more comfortable with who he is.