No Mas

As I have stated here in this blog repeatedly, I am fighting the “age thing” with everything I’ve got.  From refusing to acknowledge my upcoming 40^th, to refusing to take off my baggy Abercrombie & Fitch camouflage shorts, to refusing to get an adult-like haircut (the last one was so bad that my wife actually had to cut it again when she got home just to even it out), I am hell-bent against acknowledging the fact that I am in fact getting older.

Until now, that is.  I have found my match.  I have reached my breaking point where even I must admit enough is enough, and that age has caught up to me.  No mas.     

I can’t say for sure when exactly I knew that I was done, but I believe it was somewhere outside of Delafield, Wisconsin.  I slowly chugged up yet another big hill frantically looking for an even lower gear to use and started wondering whether the feeling in my testicles would ever return when it officially hit me . . . I’m simply too old for this shit. 

I was just 30 miles away from finishing my 10^th straight Cowalunga 3-day bike-tour in support of the American Lung Association, and I knew that there would not be an 11^th year. 

Now it’s not like I’ve lost interest in bike riding, I haven’t.  And it’s not like biking is a “young man’s sport,” it’s not.  It’s just that biking certainly isn’t getting any easier as I get older, and because of family responsibilities and kid activities, training for a 200-mile, 3-day ride is more difficult than ever.  I simply don’t have sufficient time to train for such a ride, and waking up at 6 a.m. on Sundays to train simply won’t cut it.  Ten years ago it wouldn’t have mattered, I could pretty much jump on the bike without any training and ride 200 miles without thinking about it.  I do that now and I have trouble standing upright the next day. 

But it’s not just the actual ride itself, it’s all the “other stuff” that you deal with during the three days that eight or nine or ten years ago seemed sorta fun, but now just seems to be an irritant.

For instance the accommodations are less than spectacular.  Cabins in a camp ground on Day #1 and a dorm room at the University of Whitewater on Day #2.  Now 10 years ago the dorms were sort of fun.  A chance to rekindle those college days while goofing around with the nice people sleeping in the room next to you.  Fast forward 10 years later and the dorms are a hot, cramped reminder that you’re a long way from home, and the “nice people” sleeping in the room next to you are now those jerks who keep slamming their door every time they come and go.

The heat and humidity and head winds that you rode through 10 years ago made you feel like a professional cyclist competing in some Tour de France-like road race.  Now that same heat and humidity and head winds make you feel ill and woefully out of shape.  The smile I used to wear as I grinded out mile after mile has been replaced by curse words that I utter at anyone foolish enough to ride by and say “hey, looking good.” 

And the Clif Bars and Gatorade and bags of pretzels that they have at the various rest stops are no longer considered a tasty treat, but a reminder that Clif Bars are not tasty, but actually a disgusting granola bar wanna-be that looks like a piece of shit.  Seriously, go buy a Clif Bar and tell me what you think it looks like.  Buy the Chocolate Chip Cookie one.  Go ahead.

Despite all of that, deciding not to go is still a hard decision for me to make.  This silly ride has become a part of my summer, and the time I get to spend with my two pals who have ridden with me for all 10 rides is a lot of fun.  But in the last 10 years I’ve ridden close to 2,000 miles.  I’ve had about a half dozen flat tires.  About a half dozen bee stings.  I’ve fallen off my bike twice and even dealt with a bad case of food poisoning. 

I know this will come as a disappointment to my high school pals who look forward to the trip, but we need to come up with a different activity.  I’ve had enough.  Besides, I think it’s time I get the feeling back in my balls.  Hoping that happens soon…