Back when "Windows" didn't refer to an operating system
I enjoy cycling and running for pleasure. At certain times of year those activities
take on a different face as part of an integrated training plan. This is one of
those times of year and some recent training experiences have highlighted the
commonalities and well as the differences between my training now compared to
my training in high school and college.
As I was riding into the sun the other evening two things
happened. First my vision was impaired ever so slightly by hair in my eye
reflecting the sunlight. This was just
like in high school when my long hair would hang down and get in front of my
eyes. A notable difference was that the
hair that was glinting in the sunlight on this particular evening was hanging
down from my eyebrow and not from the top of my head where (by the way) my hair
is engaged in a turf war with my forehead.
The second thing that was the clear was the feeling that
summer was ending soon which made me excited.
The sun was still high above the horizon and the temperatures were such
that I was glad to have skipped a base layer under my short sleeved
jersey. I cannot tell you why the warmth
and sunshine communicated to my head that summer was drawing to a close but I can
tell you that the feeling was absolute.
Back in my teens and early twenties the end of summer was
exciting because it was the culmination of a long summer of hundred mile weeks. After paying my dues for three months I was
typically hungry to get racing. These days the sport is Cyclocross and I look
forward to the challenge of racing and the camaraderie of cheering others and
being cheered by my team.
The start of the school year brings an energy that is
palpable on a college campus. The winding down of summer is not unlike the last
day of a vacation. You have enjoyed the
fun and are almost ready to get back to work.
For me, that is the feeling of September.
Long shadows....
My stair workout a couple weeks ago made my legs hurt
more than they have in my entire life.
Because with age inevitably comes compromise and adaptation to avoid
exactly this kind of discomfort, in a sick way I welcomed the hurt as a sign I
was still young or dumb or at least still willing and able to work hard.
I have seen enough that I can connect the dots and know
that the right hard work always pays off later.
That experience gives me the patience to put in the work now and wait to
see the results later. In a world where
we can get answers in a nanosecond the ability to wait for results is harder
and harder to come by.
My current training doesn’t fit neatly into bicycle
commutes to work or gym sessions before work.
Consequently it cuts into our usual meal time and inconveniences
Hottie. She has been supportive, however,
she did ask when my season ends (the last MFG race is November 9th)
and I couldn’t see if her teeth were clenched.
I used to think having sore legs or a tight low back was
a reminder that I was working hard. With
injuries and vacations that resulted in extended periods where I didn’t work
out, I have found I am sore regardless of my activity level. My personal experience tells me working out
makes me stronger and reduces some of the aches and pains.
Just like when I was seventeen I am cutting the grass at
the house where I live. Just like when I was seventeen I am working out
hard. When I topped out at the top of
the 188 stairs I slumped forward and put my hands on my knees and fought for
oxygen. In the seventies and eighties I
had a training plan taped up in my closet. Now my training plan is on my
computer but the principle is the same.
It is a plan aimed at getting results.
In those ways I feel like I am seventeen again. In other ways I feel like I am qualified to
race cross in the 55 plus category.
Maybe there is an age where the "Raphafication" of photographs
no longer makes you look badass.....
Maybe..
When I see my friends from my youth on Facebook they all
seem much older than I think I am. When I see my grown children have children
of their own it takes a moment or two for me to deduce that those little people
are my grandchildren. When we eat out,
female servers call me “sir” and assume I am harmless compared to the loud
young bucks at the next table. I
respectfully maintain that I am not harmless and without declaring myself the
latest incarnation of Walter White, I do feel I am capable of both mischief and
felonies.
Aside from National Championships I am now in the oldest
racing category they offer in Cyclocross in these parts. When I hear a small voice
call “Grandpa” I look to see if they are talking to me. I may not be the fastest old guy, but I am
enjoying this life.
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