Category Archives: Friendship

Bridging the Political Divide One Mile at a Time 1

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The first in a two-part series. The election is heating up so I thought it was time to “reprint” this essay which appeared in the Tacoma News Tribune in October 2004. At the time, it struck a chord with quite a few people.  

Increasingly it seems birds of a political feather almost exclusively fly together. All of my teaching colleagues are Kerry supporters as are the parents from my daughter’s soccer team; on the other hand, I live in a Bush-Cheney neighborhood (2008 update: surprisingly, the Obama signs outnumber the McCain signs). I buck this trend towards ideological segregation four times a week when I run between 10 kilometers and 10 miles with M, my neighbor, friend, and loyal training partner. M is a conservative republican; I’m a liberal democrat.

Our friendship, formed over several thousand miles of running together over the last six years, is unique. Few people have close friends whose politics are markedly different than their own.  People prefer associating with like-minded friends who affirm rather than challenge their thinking, their values, and their politics. We are either too insecure to engage with those who think and vote differently than us, or it takes too much energy, or we haven’t figured out how to disagree with one another without compromising our friendships.

My friendship with M gives me hope when pundits tell us our country has never been more divided and partisanship has never been more pronounced. How do we, as red and blue runners (2008 update: dated cliche), bridge the political chasm that exists between us?

We bridge the chasm by spending time together getting to know one another as people. 

We pass the miles debating the merits of the war in Iraq, multiculturalism, Title IX, gay marriage, candidates for political office, and tax and education reform (2008 update: Sarah Palin). Sometimes I measure our debates by miles telling my wife after a run, “We had a nine mile debate on gender differences and athletics today.” Our political disagreements often lead to personal stories, stories that help me respond more thoughtfully to M’s conservative claims.  The nature of my internal dialogue has changed from “How can you be so stupid or reactionary to take a position like that?” to “What in your past might explain you’re taking that position?” In listening to M’s stories, and learning his story, I better understand his politics. 

In interacting with M, I have also learned to appreciate many of his personal qualities including his work ethic and unpredictable sense of humor. More importantly, despite our extreme political differences, we have learned we hold some important values in common. He is as committed to his wife, kids, church, and friends as I am to mine. We work hard and respect those with whom we work. We both try to make our corners of the world better than they otherwise would be in our absence. In the end, M’s human decency matters more to me than the way he votes. 

We bridge the chasm by respectfully considering each person’s position on specific issues while realizing neither person is going to forsake their overarching political philosophy.

People are threatened and fearful of political differences. When a dinner party guest states an unpopular point of view, typically he or she is met with awkward silence. Conservatives don’t just want liberals to support the President’s actions in Iraq; they want them to passionately embrace the ideas of limited government and free market capitalism. Similarly, liberals don’t just want conservatives to oppose the death penalty; they want them to passionately embrace the ideas of pluralism and social justice. 

To be continued.

David Foster Wallace

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Recently the Wall Street Journal published a commencement speech Wallace gave to the 2005 graduating class at Kenyon College on life and work.  

Wallace and I had some things in common. He was 46, a professor, and his mind rarely rested.  He writes in great detail about his internal dialogue that I touched upon in my first post in early January.

One significant difference, he was a literary heavyweight who burst onto the scene with his first novel in 1987. To quote the Journal, he became known for “blending inventive language, intellect, humor, philosophy and cultural references in his writing.” And he was prolific. I’d like to read Infinite Jest, but at 1,100 pages, I’ll probably have to wait until my next sabbatical in three years.

Wallace’s Kenyon College commencement address is unlike any other I’ve ever heard or read.  How to describe it?  Authentic, naked, wonderfully explicit, insightful.  

Here’s a sentence from his speech that stopped me in my tracks.

“The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day.”

As a husband, father, educator, human being, that sentence resonates with me more than any I’ve read in a long, long time.

Wallace committed suicide on September 12th.  

In the speech he alludes to how difficult daily life was for him when couldn’t reign in his mind, but I’m struggling to wrap my head around how someone with such a keen insight into what it means to live life most fully, would pull the plug.

I acknowledge I don’t understand what it’s like to fight depression. Nearly everything I’ve learned about depression I’ve learned from some of my first year writing students who have courageously described their struggles. One of those students once told me he didn’t have the energy to turn off his ringing alarm clock in the morning even though it was easily within reach.

Students loved Wallace’s classes at Pomona College.  

Think of the classes he would have taught and the books he would have written.

Life is fragile.

I’m Sorry

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Our public figures provide a seemingly non-stop demonstration of how not to apologize.  Take John Edwards, John McCain, and now Charlie Rangel.  We need to create an “Apology Hall of Shame” for people whose apologies only make matters worse. 

Edwards was classic wasn’t he?  “I had developed a narcissistic, inflated sense of myself.”  Yes, outstanding start!  Keep up the self-flagellation, we want more.

Then, like Lolo, he slams into a hurdle, “But the affair was when Elizabeth was in remission.”  Please tell me he didn’t just say that.  How does someone that stupid ever pass a bar exam let alone win a series of mega-cases?

Right, intellect and personal integrity aren’t the same thing.   

I watched the Obama and McCain documentaries on CNN recently.  I thought they were balanced and well done.  

Midway through McCain’s they turned to the breakup of his first marriage.  After detailing his infidelity, the reporter asked, “How do you explain that?”  To which John replied, “I don’t know.  I don’t know.” Huge smile, then, “But I take full responsibility.”  Instead of asking “For what?” the reporter gave him a pass.  The smile said, “I’ve had years to think through an evasive answer that half-ass listeners will nod in agreement with.”  

John, you only get points for taking full responsibility if people are clear on what it is you think you did wrong.

And then, today, Rangel takes his turn.  I like Charlie so I was disappointed when he too insulted my intelligence.  Rangel claims “cultural and language barriers” kept him from understanding the finances of his house in the Dominican Republic. Bad start, but he recovered by calling his failure to report the income on his taxes “irresponsible.” Then, right when Chuck develops a little mo, he too goes Lolo and says, “I personally feel I have done nothing morally wrong.”

CR also said he doesn’t believe someone should lose their job because of a mistake.  Any reasonable person would agree with one caveat, if they honestly and unequivocally come clean on what the mistake or mistakes were.  

If you’re unable to adopt my approach of being perfect and never making a mistake, I suggest the following approach: 1) detail the mistake; 2) genuinely express remorse; 3) sit down and shut up.

Cultural Differences

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Recently, I listened to two well educated erudite Tacoma/Seattle sports journalists (granted, those words aren’t normally strung together), let’s call them J1 and J2, reporting from Beijing on the radio.  I like the J’s, but they reminded me that every traveler is susceptible to at minimum subtle forms of ethnocentrism that take the form of projecting onto other people in other places one’s own assumptions about how things should be done.  In the course of their reporting, both lamented different aspects of their Chinese experience.  J1 got on a jammed pack bus outside the Water Cube only to have the driver wait five minutes until his prescribed time to leave.  J2 wanted the hosts to “lighten up” and try to enjoy themselves more.  J1 seconded that point in a completely independent segment.

While traveling in Europe during the winter and spring, L and I were struck by how few times we had to show our passports and how we never received visa stamps.  Given the apparent streamlining of work, maybe passport control agencies can be given the new responsibility of helping orient newly arriving travelers.  

How?  

With a passport stamp that reads as follows:  Welcome to Foreignland.  Lots of aspects of people’s lives in Foreignland are different than what you are accustomed to.  During your stay, we hope you come to appreciate the different ways Foreignlanders approach daily life.  If not, that’s okay, but please understand that the different ways Foreignlanders live work just fine for them. For example, Foreignlanders’ bus drivers may follow their schedules more to the letter of the law than you are accustomed to. While you are in Foreignland, the burden is on you to adjust to the way they live their lives. Also be aware that Foreignlanders may not be as “laid back” as you are accustomed to or would like. Odds are Foreignlanders will not change into the people you’re more accustomed to interacting with during the course of your stay. If you are unable to adjust to the different ways Foreignlanders live their lives, consider returning home rather than exiting the airport.  

Granted, that’s one LARGE stamp, but if you’re like me, your passport has lots of blank pages.

The Games of the XXIX Olympiad 1

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I’m a bit conflicted about the Olympics.  That shouldn’t come as a surprise to regular readers since that’s true about nearly everything.  I can’t help but wonder who is on the juice, the rampant country swapping makes it less compelling, and then there’s the nationalism (we’re superior because our athletes are better?) and incessant commercials.  Then again, I’m a sports junkie so I do my best to suppress those thoughts, mute the commercials, and embrace the competition and drama. 

I admit to being a bit nostalgic for when amateurs predominated, but despite the recent changes, the Olympics are still pretty cool.  People from all over the globe getting to know one another while competing, not fighting.

Hodgepodge of thoughts from week one:

• Second lowest point.  When Fox News interviewed some general following the lowest point, the tragic murder-suicide on day one.  Fox News “journalist”:  Should Americans be fearful?  Should they be concerned for their safety?  Should they take precautions?  American General:  Absolutely, yada, yada, yada.  Unbelievable unfounded fear-mongering.  In essence he was suggesting that any Americans that dared visit China were unsafe and that similar attacks could easily happen at any time to other visitors.  I couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever spent any time in China.  I’ve spent months walking and cycling through major Chinese cities by myself and have never felt unsafe.  That tragedy was the result of a disturbed person.  It was a random act of violence and that general (and Fox News by extension) is an embarrassment.

• I dig the cycling path along the rowing venue.  The Chinese are racing to abandon their bikes for motorcycles and cars, but I think those cyclist add a nice traditional touch to the rowing events.

• I double dig the marathon rallies in women’s badminton.

• The women’s road race looped around the Great Wall at Badaling.  When I hiked up to the Great Wall at Badaling Lionel Ritchie music was being piped in through cheap speakers tied to tree branches.  Nothing personal LR, but that definitely took away from the experience.

• Michael Phelps.  Genetic advantages (size of feet-superior dolphin kick, lung capacity-can stay underwater longer, wing span) plus a world class work ethic plus mental toughness plus excellent coaching/preparation.  The world records are the result of the suit, which apparently save .5 seconds per 60.  He beat Spitz by 12 seconds in the 200 free!  The key question for me, that I haven’t heard anyone else raise, is will his success lead to an upsurge in the number of young competitive swimmers in the U.S., ala Frank Shorter and running in the 70’s.  Hope so, it’s a great sport.  Other Phelps question, where will he end up among countries in the medal count?  I read he earns $5m/year right now from sponsors, but that’s expected to jump to $30m/year.  I predict school children will be writing reports about Phelps 100 years from now.  

• Chinese gymnasts, average height 4’9”, average weight 77lbs.  Those are some short, light, young looking 16 year olds.

• Disappointed with the lack of cultural teaching and learning.  Missed opportunity it seems.  I thought the commentary during the opening ceremonies was good (except for the bizarre “note the precision of their hands even when working at McDonalds or Starbucks”), but among many others, there are two important themes that have been slighted.  1) The two Chinas, the urban, wealthier, eastern portion of the country that makes up about 25% of the total and the rural, poorer, western portion that makes up about 75% of the total.  The first China tends to get 90% of the coverage.  2) The incredible population density in the eastern portion of the country where the Olympics are taking place.

• When is golf going to be added?  If there’s not room there’s always synchronized swimming.

• Usain Bolt. . . clean?  I said I’m TRYING to suppress cynical thoughts like that.

Notes from a Wedding

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The fam and I went to a former students wedding near Portland recently.  It was one of the first times we’ve spent an extended period of time together since returning from Europe and we had fun.  

• A and J chose to spend five hours in a Honda Civic with their parents in order to attend the wedding of a person they didn’t know which was further confirmation there’s a scary strong link between females and weddings.  

• The fam clearly dug the artistic way I used my water bottle as a microphone and the Mick Jagger-like way I rocked the beat while doing 70 m.p.h. on the I-5.  Akon and Ron.  Of course it’s hard to truly cut loose when the fifteen year old with the learner’s permit is reciting traffic regulations from memory every fifteen minutes.

• I learned J wants to get married outside in a garden.  When I started to guess possible suitors, she shot me a scathing look and explained to her mom, “His record so far (at keeping secrets) isn’t good.”  At present, A has bohemian sensibilities, and would like to get married in a older, rustic church, ala the one in Mama Mia.  I see flowers in her hair and lots of henna.  

• While sitting at the reception waiting for the gun to go off for the race to the front of the buffet line, I came up with a brilliant new approach to wedding gifting that creates an incentive for couples to stay together.  At the wedding I give the happy couple a card that has the following note in it: “In lieu of a gift, I have invested what I would have spent on your gift, $100, into a 10 year certificate of deposit.  If you two lovebirds are still married in 2018, I will cash in the CD, buy you a gift for the new total, and mail it to you a few days before your tenth wedding anniversary.”  Half of you were leaning towards thinking I’m psycho, now there’s no doubt.  The other half is thinking, “Dang, I’m going to do that, but I’m investing in a 20 year certificate of deposit.”  It’s that second group and I that are going to slow the divorce rate.

• The bride, my former student, grew up in the church where the service was held and the priest had been at the church for a long time, yet in the homily there wasn’t a single reference to her younger years or to how the bride and groom met, nuthin’.  Just some references to some cartoons, the importance of a sense of humor, and I present you. . .  Me thinketh the priest went to the file cabinet and pulled the “Marriage Cermony” folder.  Critiquing priests is admittedly risky business, but I have done at least as much thinking about religious leadership as I have youth sports, so I feel another series brewing.  So, after a final youth sports series post, beware the religious leadership post or possibly, if I’m not struck down during a freak lightening storm, the religious leadership series.

Youth Sports Mania 4

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Record number of views last week.  Note to self. . . more imaginary press conferences.  Thanks for reading.

I ended “Youth Sports Mania 3” with this question:  what would happen if the adults didn’t organize children’s leagues, didn’t unfurl their lawn chairs on the sidelines of their games, didn’t watch their every move twice a week, and didn’t affirm their every effort?  This run-on question begs a more succinct and important one that too few ask and even fewer openly discuss: what are the purposes of youth sports? 

If I were Youth Sports Czar, I’d ask every youth coach to share their philosophy of youth sports with their athlete’s families.  And ideally, the families would have thought through their own philosophies and before each season, coaches, families, and athletes would discuss their respective philosophies and assess whether the “fit” provides a sufficient foundation for growth.

Often coaches, families, and children are pursuing different objectives.  When this happens, athletes’ motivation wanes, coaches get frustrated with the lack of effort, and little is accomplished.

For adolescents especially, parents and coaches should listen to what they want to get out of their participation in sports.  Before each season, coaches should work with their athletes to establish a few achievable team goals.  Within a framework of agreed upon team goals, each teammate should commit to a few achievable individual goals.  Ideally, a team would only meet its collective goals if a majority of the team meets their individual goals. 

Also, if the team goals are truly the result of listening to the athletes, the athletes should be less dependent upon a charismatic coach for motivation because they’ll push one another to improve.

Most coaches are knowledgeable technicians; as a result, they focus on teaching proper technique.  Fewer are expert listeners and highly skilled at individual and group communication.  That’s probably why they shy away from the exact kind of goal setting processes or shared decision-making that I’m advocating.

Youth Sports Mania 3

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Third in a series.  I acknowledge that I’m generalizing, focusing on the 51% of parent, coach, and youth sport activity that I believe constitutes mania.  There are lots of parents who sit mostly in silence and show excellent sportsmanship on the sidelines, cheering excellent play, irrespective of the color of the jerseys.  The same parents praise their children’s effort whether they fill up the stat sheet or not and offer them constructive criticism in a private, caring way.  And there are excellent coaches who focus on the forest that is their athletes’ long-term health and development.

But too often it seems, those coaches and parents seem to be overshadowed by the coaches and parents that become unhinged by single-minded competitiveness.  I’m not sure why I have let those coaches and parents ruffle my feathers so much. 

The end result of the ruffling is that for all practical purposes I have opted out of youth sports.  To L’s dismay at times, I’ve chosen not to coach, I have purposely not pushed my daughters, and I watch their games passively, alienated from the most anxious and vocal parents. 

Yes, I have considered that I’m too analytical, that I should just chill, and go along to get along, but I accept that I often think about things differently.

Youth sports, like the arts, like schooling, like religious youth groups, have so much potential for good, but too often, coaches and parents focus too exclusively on winning and squander that potential.  When children take the field, too many parents think of them as extensions of themselves.  If their kid plays poorly it reflects negatively on them; if they excel, it reflects positively on them.

Sure, it’s possible I overcompensated, but that’s water under the bridge.  Maybe I should have had higher expectations and worked with A and J one-on-one more.  If I had, maybe they would have experienced even more success and enjoyed playing even more.  I guess I was waiting for them to take the initiative to practice by themselves or with friends outside of the schedules predetermined by adults, or to ask me for help, or both.

Outside of school, my friends and I played all the time without having to because we wanted to.  Rain, snow, searing heat, the setting sun, nothing stopped us.  We’d work on our putting and jump shots under a flood light and the rain meant after school football would be that much more fun.  I routinely played 9 or 18 holes of golf by myself.  If my daughters are representative of today’s generation of young athletes, they play when they’re told to, which begs the question, do they play mostly as a result of adult expectations?  And would the youngest athletes have even more fun if left to their own devices?

Richard Williams, father of Venus and Serena Williams, is an odd bird, but he did something as a tennis coach of his young daugthers that I think was brilliant.  Once a year he’d take their racquets and hide them in a closest in their Compton, CA house to see how they’d react.  He’d do this as a check on whether they were developing an intrinsic love of the game.  Apparently, they’d take one day off and then begin tearing the house apart on day two. 

What percentage of our young athletes is developing a genuine fondness for their activities of choice?  What would happen if the adults didn’t organize their leagues, didn’t unfurl their lawn chairs on the sidelines of their games, didn’t watch their every move two nights a week, and didn’t affirm their every effort?  

Youth Sports Mania 2

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Part two in a series.  Unless we attempt to understand why parents sign up their four year olds for organized soccer, we’ll never fundamentally reform youth sports. 

I may have stumbled upon the beginning of an answer a year later when I was teaching A to ride her bike without training wheels for the first time.  As she gleefully weaved down the middle of the street trying to figure out how to stop, another father of a child A’s age watched from inside his house.  The next day I saw him struggling to teach his five year old to ride his bike sans training wheels.  Never mind that children develop at different rates and that some four year olds hop on their bikes and leave some six and seven year olds in their dust.  Dammit, his kid wasn’t going to be left behind by that Byrnes girl. 

If the kid next door is riding her bike and she’s playing soccer, and my child isn’t, it’s just a matter of time before that kid is in the highest reading and math groups in elementary school, on the select teams, in the honors courses in middle school, on Varsity and in the Advanced Placement courses in high school.  Ultimately, if my kid doesn’t start riding his/her bike and playing soccer when other kids do, they won’t make it into colleges that are as selective as the other kids undoubtedly will, and then of course, there’s grad school.

I digress, back to the inaugural tiny tot soccer practice.  Before leaving for it, I rolled up the newly arrived issue of Sports Illustrated (ala John Wooden) and jammed it into my back pocket.  I intended on using it as a shield of sorts in case any “Little League” parents showed up.  I would compensate for their intensity by sitting to the side dispassionately reading SI.  Interesting that I began my youth sports parent journey with that alternative, even outsider mentality, because I thought it might have evolved following A’s first practice.

Right before the practice the coach gave a great talk to the co-ed hoard of pipsqueaks about learning one another’s names and the importance of teamwork.  I thought, “Cool, A’s going to have a positive first experience with a progressive coach.”  But then, immediately after everyone quickly whispered their names, he threw the ball out onto the field and the pre-school athletes began “scrimmaging.” 

From behind my SI, I alternated between chuckling and cringing because the scrimmage consisted of fifteen midgets chasing one speedster with natural skills.  This went on and on.  There were no drills, no introduction of fundamentals, and no one learned anyone’s name.  There was learning going on though, fifteen children learned they weren’t nearly as good as their one teammate.

Midway through the scrimmage, A bonked heads with another runt and came running to me in tears.  As I hugged her and wiped her tears, I wondered, “What the hell were we thinking?”

Fast forward to the present.  A friend coaches a select soccer team and surprise, surprise, he says some parents are never content with their kid’s playing time and others, immediately after the game, want him to relay critical feedback to their daughters.  Recently, a ref said that he “should be embarrassed” by his parents’ behavior on the sideline. 

My friend didn’t elaborate on what prompted the comment, but I can picture the scene, some of the parents barking at their kid, or hectoring opposing kids, or ripping the fifteen year old ref just getting a feel for his first part-time job (as if he secretly has money in Vegas on one of the U12 girl teams).  To my friend’s credit, he was embarrassed, and things have improved following a lengthy team email.

To be continued.

Coming Unhinged?

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We interrupt the Youth Sports Mania series (which will continue in a day or two) with this emergency query: have I totally lost it?  The last two years I’ve spent the last Thursday in July cycling around Mount Rainier in what’s known as RAMROD.  Both rides were a highlight of both summers because 1) I trained hard from mid-April or early May and 2) I had two excellent wingmen, T and D, stronger riders than me who I often tucked in behind to conserve energy or to manage the final 25 miles when running on fumes, 3) the scenery is unrivaled, and 4) we rode really well and passed people all day long.  

Fast forward to this year.  I returned from Europe in late May, and began cycling, but because I was something like 199th on the RAMROD wait list, I wasn’t terribly motivated to go long, especially since I’m training for the Portland Marathon.  My longest ride of the season so far is 59 solo, fairly hill miles.  Even that ride involved a big brunch with the fam and in-laws in the middle.  I’m riding really hard twice a week (averaging just over 100 miles/week), but compared to 06 and 07, my mileage is way down.  For an event like this, I’m seriously under-trained.  On top of that, T is in Washington D.C. mountain biking with President Bush on the weekends (22 times so far) and D has gotten too damn strong for me to try to ride with this year.  

Fast forward to yesterday when I learned I made it into the ride.  Does the fact that I’m even considering doing the ride, mean I’ve lost touch with reality.  Any of you who have lost your sanity see the same telltale signs in me?  

Here’s my plan.  Spend six hours in the saddle Friday with ample climbing.  Then the question is can I ride extremely conservatively to the first climb, and then conservatively up to Paradise, and then conservatively through Backbone Ridge, and then conservatively up Cayuse.  I think I can do it if I stay within myself and repeat this mantra, “No heroics.”  I’ll suffer mightily, but that provides the opportunity to develop more mental toughness which will make me a better endurance athlete.

So, I’m leaning towards attempting it.  Let me know if I’m totally crazy, I suspect those who are most crazy are the last to know.  

Here’s last year’s race report:

143.3 miles.  10,406’ elevation gained.  10,027 calories burned.  Total time, 8:50-8:55.  Riding time, 8:03:49.  Average speed, 17.8.  Maximum speed, 42.7.  Average heart rate, 132.  Max, probably mid 150’s.

Last year I overinflated my tires and had to change tubes, ran out of tubes, and then tipped over all between 3:30a.m. and our start at 5:40a.m.  This year prerace prep went perfectly and I even stayed upright as they checked our numbers at the start.

Like all endurance events, this one is all about preparation.  This summer I’ve totaled about 90-95% of last summer’s miles.  Despite the slight dip, I went 103 miles by myself a few weeks ago.  Thanks to the wettest July in ages, a lot of this month’s miles were solo.  When it’s warm and not windy, I really don’t mind riding in the rain.  Of course that’s only when it starts mid-ride.   

Rode with three friends, one who had three additional friends who we waited for at the start, but dropped almost immediately.  That’s a nice segue to the line of the day, which ironically occurred at the 2 mile mark.  My plan was to effortlessly spin for 10 miles, slowly increase it over the next 30, until hitting the base of the first extended climb when I knew it would be every man for himself to the top.  Ease into it and reduce it to a damn hilly century.

Problem is D (former professional marathoner) has gotten crazy strong and he’s hardwired to go hard all the time.  So I happened to lead us out and I’m crawling along at 15mph on what is actually a 40 mile 2% grade run up to the base of the first climb.  We actually pass and pick up a few riders when T says to D, “How you doin?”  To which D replies, “Hemmed in.”  A club passes us hard in matching kits and he pulls out, passes me (I had decided to let them go) and quickly closes the gap.  At my advanced age, I still bowed to peer pressure, and followed suit.  We used those guys for 10-15 miles until they stopped for some sissy reason no doubt.  We put time into them all day. 

Last sentence requires an explanation.  Normally, we ride up, down, and around the mountain, meaning you have no idea how many people are in front of you or behind you.  This year it was an out and back due to major winter storms and road damage/closures, with three major climbs off the main out and back highway.  Therefore, we saw a handful of riders descend before us and 98% climbing behind us as we descended the three big hills.  Out of 800 riders, maybe 10-15 finished before us.  And they may have started before us.  Start was open from 4-6 and we rolled at 5:42. 

Long story short, D and T dropped the hammer for 8 hours and I hung on for my dear life.  T climbed Sunrise with me, the first, longest, and most scenic of the three climbs.  It was nice to have someone to talk to, especially someone who knew the road and was able to tell me what was ahead.  We blew off the 25 mile rest stop so I stopped for two minutes at the base of Sunrise (mile 40 I think) to drink, swallow a few salt tablets, and pop a few dried mangoes in my mouth.  That gave Steve, friend three, just the separation he needed, but T and I caught him 3/4ths of the way up.  We passed person after person.  I told two guys we came up on, “The coach told us to bring some water bottles up to you” and they cracked up.  Most other guys didn’t find being passed so amusing. 

The views were incredible, but I was working too hard to really enjoy them.  The descent was one of the best ever.  Air temp most of the ride was in the 60’s, so perfect, and probably 50 with wind chill on the descents.  Some guys were cold on the descent even with arm warmers, but I went without and was only borderline chilly, which again was perfect.  Couldn’t have asked for better weather.  Climbs 2 and 3 were mid-day and in the sun and the only times I sweated quite heavily.  Hours 1 and 2 were so quick I struggled to drink enough.  I was worried about the medium and long-term effects of that, but I compensated by drinking a ton mid-ride.  That plus 8 salt tablets kept me from cramping. 

We regrouped at the bottom of descent one and rode together to climb 2.  We separated on climb 2 fairly early on and regrouped again at the top.  Same pattern for climb 3.  Climb 3 began at mile 100 and was 10 miles long.  The first 4 were relatively gentle and I sat in our group of 5-6 (having picked up two riders).  Then as they started to pull away I said, “Meet you at the top.”  At mile 107 we came upon a 12% grade sign.  Kid you not, I was as close to unclicking as I’ve ever been.  I probably slowed from 7-8 to 5 mph and still pulled away from the two guys I was riding near.  Had to stand most of the way and after somehow making it over borrowed from Kurt Warner after his SuperBowl victory, “Thank you Jesus.”  Almost immediately though, there was a 12% descent which I couldn’t enjoy at all because all I could think about was climbing it very shortly.  We took a nature break at the top and immediately started descending.  Hit the 12% climb right at 112!  I said to Steve, “I just love hitting 12% climbs at 112 miles in.”  I also told him I’d have to swear him to secrecy if I had to unclick.  We both made it, all of us reformed at the main highway at mile 120, and continued to the infamous deli stop at 123. 

Amazing organization and volunteers.  The deli stop is actually a sandwich bar.  I had turkey on wheat with mustard, mayonnaise, and a tomato.  Throw in a Diet Coke, oatmeal chocolate chip cookie, and 20 miles suddenly seemed doable.  We told some guys we were leaving and we formed an 8-9 person paceline.  Now it’s a 2% downgrade, but it’s into a pretty strong headwind, so the two neutralized each other.  First guy starts pulling at 17 and I’m behind D just cracking up.  I’m loving it because I’ve been riding way too hard for way too long.  I had no pride at that point and would have sat in the whole way home!  The guy pulls and pulls and pulls and I know D in front of me and T behind me are like restless thoroughbreds in the gate.  Then the guy pulls off, drops back two riders and cuts in right on top of D.  D somehow avoids the ditch and just shakes his head.  Apparently, the guy had no idea we were back there.  That’s all T needed to snap, saying, “Come on, let’s go” and took off into the wind. 

Leaving the deli stop I had told D and T that they could easily blow me off the back, and I reminded them that I had the car key.  It worked out because they pulled a lot farther/longer than I did.  After one of my puny pulls, I barely got back on and then started to fall off, but I told them and they sat up for 45 seconds which was all I needed to recover.  At that point we picked up two equally strong riders and flew over the last 15 miles. 

Positive peer pressure.  As we approached the finish, I eased off to cool down.  D and T accelerated.  They couldn’t be nicer guys, but I sure wish they’d learn the joy of spinning.

I was extremely proud of how well all of us rode, but I know there’s a whole other category of riders that would humble us.  We ride with some cat 1-5 guys most weeks and we know we’re just a bunch of Cutters.  Increasingly though, D pisses off those guys by hanging with them to the very end of our club rides.

Next year, T will be living in D.C. until September 08, and I return from Europe on May 23rd.  So I won’t have anywhere near the necessary miles in, and therefore, won’t extend my streak*.  D is already preparing to go solo.

* Or will I?