Trophies

I rode my bike last night. This is the first real road riding I've done in quite a while, and I could tell. While I ride the exerbike at the gym on a regular basis, and get on my old 1960's-vintage bicycle on the wind trainer in my living room occasionally (usually only when there's a good Don Knotts movie on or something), they do not provide the same training as being on the road. For example, I don't have to wear a helmet to ride the stationery bikes, nor be aware of traffic. I am not required to watch for glass on the road, nor worry about simple things like staying upright.

And despite years and years of riding bicycles on the road, I found that I was a little wobbly last night. Mostly when I was trying to replace my water bottle in its cage -- I'd swerve a little bit and mutter to myself, for some reason making useless apologies to the cars driving by who might've seen my little navigational glitch.

Why is it that we talk to people who can't hear us? And why is it that we tend to use a Scooby-Doo voice to do it? "Ruh roh!"

Nobody cares that we give ourselves instructions as we ride. "Dude," we say to ourselves, "you need to practice your water bottle technique", only for some reason it comes out "rotter wattle".

What? You don't do that? It's just me? Well, trust me, if you were to ride beside me, you'd be treated to a non-stop one-man conversation about all sorts of boring stuff. "Hey, look -- they're repaved part of the Chatfield road by the swimming area!" and "Whoa, my toes have fallen asleep...wonder if I need bigger bike shoes?"

Anyway, it was a good ride. Except for the wind. As my friend Tom says, "The first rule of biking is that no matter which direction you're going, the wind is in your face". And it sure felt like that. Still, I was able to maintain a pretty good pace for somebody who hasn't been on the road for a while.

OK, I'll admit -- that's pure speculation. The battery on my bike's speed computer has fizzled out, so I have no idea how fast I was riding. As the title of this blog site implies, I'm one of those guys who pays attention to my pace, usually. I am not comfortable doing a workout without knowing how fast I'm going. Without my speedometer, I find myself guessing: "Let's see, that car that passed me is probably going about 60 mph, and I'm probably going about a third as fast, so I should be doing 20, right?"

As if my estimation skills were that good.

On the exerbike at the gym, I can predict my heart rate with some accuracy, since the volume of the noise I make when I breathe seems to have a linear relationship to how hard I'm working. But my gasping and wheezing as I ride down the road is not a good predictor of speed, since I might be climbing a hill, coasting down a long slope, or pushing into a hurricane-level headwind. Bottom line: I have no idea what pace I was keeping.

My friends tell me that I should just be able to enjoy the ride, and recognize that I'm gaining fitness benefits and growing spiritually from communing with nature, etc, etc, blah blah blah. OK, whatever. I do know that I was tired at the end of the ride, so I guess that counts for something.

As for communing with nature, though, I think I need to pick a ride time that's not during the evening rush hour. Being passed by 40,000 cars whose drivers are thinking only of getting home to their wives or Hungry Man dinners or whatever -- well, it's not conducive to meditative thoughts about the beauty of the flowers, grasses, and serene forest creatures. In fact, as I rode into the Chatfield Lake State Park, all I could notice was a pungent melange of fresh asphalt and horse manure. Not exactly pine trees and honeysuckle, is it?

And anyway, I'm cursed with a nose that doesn't appreciate floral scents at all. Strong aromas that please some people have a tendency to make my physically ill. Lilacs, lavender, and any perfumes based on them have the ability to give me an instant splitting headache. Probably due to bad experiences with marigolds and Glade air freshener I had as a kid, but I'll save that topic for another time. Suffice it to say that I actually prefer the smell of hot tar and horse poop to that of a flower garden.

Summary: I had a good ride, and despite the wind and some dark clouds in the west, found the weather to be tolerable. Afterwards, I went home to eat peanut butter sandwiches while I watched the MacGuyver episode of Mythbusters.

So what does this have to do with the trophy I mentioned in yesterday's posting? Why, nothing. Nothing at all.

And if I were interested in strict adherence to truth and accuracy, I'd probably call this thing a "plaque", rather than a trophy. But maybe you should decide:


It is a classy piece of work. A printed glass earth set into a cool orbital stand made out of some sort of space age material. (Actually, it sorta reminds me of that decking material they make out of recycled milk jugs, but I think they were going more for the impression of granite or gneiss or one of those other popular igneous rocks.)

(Hey...my son is looking for a new name for his death metal band -- perhaps "Igneous Rocks" is just what he's looking for. Hmm.)

I received this upscale plaque/trophy/whatever in appreciation for the work I did on a recent proposal. And while I'm grateful for the recognition and the kindness of the proposal management in extending this excellent gesture, well, I'm not really sure what I'll do with it. I'm not really the sort of guy who wants to cover his workspace with reminders of past projects. And my fireplace mantel at home is where I store my extra guitar picks, capos, and stuff, so that really won't work, either.

Most trophies I've received in the past have probably ended up in a landfill somewhere. I take a photo of it, and then toss it. For example: I participated in a bowling league ONCE in my entire life. And due to Neptune's proximity to Kohoutek (or some other inexplicable cosmic phenomenon) there was one night where I bowled about 140 points above my average and won the league's "high game" trophy. Seriously, I'm not going to display a bowling trophy, when I am so obviously NOT a good bowler. So, snap a pic, toss it out. Repeat as necessary.

I have kept one precious trophy, though, even though I contributed very little to the efforts that earned it. It's packed away somewhere, so I can't share a photo right now, but it was a small plexiglas plate about the size of a Wal-Mart greeter's badge that was for "First Place Team in the Colordado State Championship Triathlon".

I was lucky enough to be the designated swimmer on our corporate team entry into this event. And at the time, our company was gigantic, with a huge pool of talent to select from. With the runner and cyclist I was teamed with, all I had to do was not drown.

Our biker was a fellow named Bart Sheldrake, who was a member of the US Cycling Team's Pan-Am Games squad. And our runner was Alan Lind, who had won the Denver Marathon twice already. Nobody in the state was going to touch us on either of those two legs of the race.

Then there's me. But these guys were incredibly gracious, and didn't seem worried by the fact that I didn't finish first. Or anywhere close to it. But it didn't matter.

I got out of the water in about 5th place, and had given up nearly a half-minute lead to the frontrunning teams. But Bart was such an incredible rider than he had taken the lead within the first mile of the bike leg. And it was all over right then and there. He had the fastest ride of anyone. And Alan had the fastest run, so our team won the thing by a wide margin, and I got to take home the same trophy that those guys did. Pretty cool.

The thing I enjoyed most was listening to comments from the crowd as the race went on. The PA announcer noted that our team's lead was continuing to expand, and that we were in the "corporate" category. Some of the teams were sponsored by bike shops and running stores, and had recruited from all over the place...and we all worked for the same company. One guy said "There's no way they all actually work there. They're ringers!" I had never been called a ringer before. I kinda liked it.

Anyway, the point is that it is really special to hang out with elite athletes, and I appreciate the opportunities I've had. And here it is, 20 years later, and I'm still blessed enough to be around folks like that. In fact, this weekend is the National Championship Masters Swimming Meet, and a couple of my swimming teammates have legitimate shots at winning there. I'll keep you posted on how they do.

And on a much lower level of competition, I am scheduled to run in our company running club's 5-mile race tonight. The only problem is that it's snowing right now, and could be pretty ugly (and muddy) by the time the race starts. I'll let you know how it goes.

Have a great day!