No Haircut...Yet

In Junior High School, I had two distinct groups of friends. One group was the counterculture hippie group, who I enjoyed for their ability to think creatively and question established modes of thought. The other was the swim team, who I enjoyed for their ability to kick butt and attract girls.

(OK, to be honest, the hippies also attracted a few girls, but the females who hung out with that group tended to be hairier and/or smellier than the ones who hung out with the jocks. I realize that I'm merely a product of my cultural upbringing, and that my lack of openmindedness and unwillingness to embrace all hygiene cultures is a harsh indictment of my shallowness and smallness...but nevertheless, I prefer girls who don't stink. Send me to all the Diversity Training you want, but I rather believe that my prejudice in this area is likely to remain. Sorry.)

Over time, many additional factors probably contributed to my ultimate decision to divest myself from the hippie movement. Drugs, certainly -- I saw no reason to risk my brain by filling it with pollutants. And while Socialism and anarchy (in the "live and let live" sense) sounded so very, very appealing to the youth of my generation, I think I suspected even then that they simply wouldn't work. The kind of system that the hippies (and their "can't we all just get along" counterparts of today) envisioned requires the complete cooperation of everyone...and I just think that you have to somehow account for the ones who just won't cooperate. But really, the main factor that kept me from running off with the Flower Children was the fact that I just can't stand having my hair long!

That's right -- it's another example of my shallowness; I chose my entire life's direction based on the fact that I wasn't comfortable with the fashions preferred by proponents of Free Love, Feelin' Groovy, and the Grateful Dead. (Side note: I saw one of my hippie friends at a high school reunion, and I asked him how the whole hippie thing had worked out for him. His reply: "I pretty much wasted 10 years of my life.") I tried to grow my hair long a couple of times, but it drove me crazy. Of course, the 1980s was the hair decade, so I had to do something with some puffiness to it (see photo of me with my non-hippie friend Ron, circa 1983). I kept that style until about the time Tanner was born.

At that point in my life, I realized that with a face like mine, it really didn't matter what sort of hairdo I had. No matter how many hundreds of dollars I'd pay to some French-sounding hair salon, no matter how many layers of feathering they'd sculpt into my head, and no matter how much Grecian formula you dumped on my noggin, I was never going to be Bon Jovi. Nor Fabio. Nor Farrah Fawcett. I decided I'd go with a cheap and convenient hairstyle, so I got out the clippers and chopped it all off.

Since then, I've enjoyed the convenience of cutting my own hair whenever I want to. I don't have to make any appointments, read 6-month-old People magazines in a bacteria-filled waiting room, nor force myself to sit stoically while a scissor-wielding goth chick snips at me between bouts of gum-chewing and cell phone calls. And other than buying a new $9 set of clippers every 10 years or so, it doesn't cost me a dime. I may not be stylish, but at least I'm not a slave to the Hair Establishment.

Hmm, maybe I've hung onto more of my hippie roots than I thought -- that last sentence sounded mighty like something I'd have said in the 60s. Hmm.

Anyway, the reason I'm telling you all of this is so you'll understand why I didn't cut my hair over the weekend. I wanted to -- with a 34-mile bike ride and 3-mile swim on Sunday morning, I could've used the relief of a lighter, more breathable head. But if I had cut it on Sunday, it would have an entire week to grow before the Horsetooth Lake Swim race next weekend. And I'd either have to cut it again, or swim the race with that extra week's hair growth.

Does it make a difference, you ask? Well, if you know anything about lake swimming at all, you probably realize that it really doesn't matter how long your hair is in terms of water resistance -- you're covering it all with a latex cap, anyway. But it's the psychological advantage of knowing that you've shaved off those few extra ounces underneath the bonnet...that's what makes you swim faster. Therefore, I'm not going to cut my hair until this Saturday, the day before the race.

That makes sense, doesn't it? Of course it does. And now you understand why my normally tight haircut may currently be a bit more, uh, random than it normally is. If you happen to see me, please try to remember that it's all about the race, and try not to laugh. Thank you, and have a great day!