Lost and Found

Franz Klammer inspired me to push my skiing to its limits.

Unfortunately, those limits fell a tad short of what was required to make the Olympic team. While my genetic gifts do make me a formidable opponent in both trivia contests and Tazmanian hula events, I long ago realized that my only chances for podium appearances depended upon my skill at picking races that all the good athletes avoided...and living long enough that my age group was depleted by attrition.

But the Olympics? No, that was never on my dance card. There was a time when I could navigate a black diamond slope by zig-zagging from boundary to boundary (we called it "tree-versing"), but these days I suspect the blue slopes would keep me challenged enough.

I haven't been skiing for a couple of years. And honestly, the thought of kicking back in the lodge and watching the ski bunnies probably holds more appeal than tromping across moguls to retrieve my skis after each explosive crash. And as I age, I seem to also become less and less enamored with being cold.

Which brings me to today's topic. The ski jacket I'm wearing in the photo above is one of my many possessions that has disappeared without a trace over the years. More recently, I lost my gym bag holding a t-shirt, shorts, and a brand new pair of Altra Instinct zero-drop running shoes. Before that, it was a mesh bag containing 2 dozen swim team drag suits.

What bothers me most about losing these items is that I simply have no idea how I managed to lose them. Sometimes (like the time I left my Lockheed Martin fleece jacket at a 24-Hour Fitness in Kansas City), I am pretty sure when and where my possession and I parted company. But I am truly disturbed by my lack of awareness about the loss of these other items. In the case of the coat pictured above, I was habitually wearing it...and then one day it was no longer in my closet. I'm almost positive that nobody threw it out, nor was it stolen. It's most likely that I just wore it somewhere, took it off, and then left it behind.

Even so, it would seem that this stuff would turn up again at some point. Perhaps I'm naive, but it would seem to me that if somebody ran across a big bag of used drag suits lying in the locker room, they'd be unlikely to take them home for personal use. I'd expect the finder to say "Hmm, I bet these belong to a masters swim coach...I'll turn them in to the staff and ask them to contact him or her."

Same with my bag o' workout clothes. I can't imagine that I left them anywhere but at the gym, so I would expect them to turn up in the lost and found. But no; they have simply disappeared off the face of the earth.

The secret to remembering not to leave things behind is to put my car keys in one of the pockets. If I get to the parking lot without keys, I'll eventually figure out that I need to go back to retrieve the forgotten clothing. But I can't put the same keys in the pockets of multiple outfits, so I guess this isn't really a foolproof solution, either.

Of course, I could just stop being stupid and senile. But I'd have to be smart and coherent to do that -- so it's a bit of a Catch 22, isn't it?

Sigh. I guess I really have no choice but to do what I've done in the past: Allocate a portion of my monthly budget toward replacing things that have vanished. It's not the optimal solution, but it'll have to do.

So my question for you today is this: What Olympic ambitions did you once hold, and when did you finally realize that your moment had most likely passed? (Note: My friend Sammy is exempt from this question, since she'll almost certainly be on the 2016 team.)

And if you see a bag of drag suits lying around, please let me know, OK? The Foothills Masters swimmers miss them. Have a great day!