Priority Shifted With Opportunity

Tags

fatherhood, golf

Last evening was picture perfect — cool temperatures, slight breeze, sunny with green landscapes abounding as our trees and plants benefit from the bountiful rain of the past few weeks.  Work was one of those days that moved along at a pleasant, manageable clip.  As late afternoon approached I found myself looking forward to mounting my road bicycle for a nice spin around the open spaces of west suburban Chicago.  My plan was to change into my cycling clothes as soon as I got home, avoid the call of the couch lest I succumb to its siren song, put in a few hours of sweet sweat.

Nate was parked in front of the TV, feverishly working the video game controller to extinguish increasingly pesky video zombies.  A large part of his free time since school ended for the summer has been devoted to perfecting his gaming skills.  Also occupying his time, daily, is golf.  To his credit, he did not give up golf after a disappointing start to the summer season, instead determination to improve has taken over.  That is his personality, one of the reasons individual sports such as golf or tennis are more his cup of tea than a team sport like baseball.  His success is based on his performance.  My son would rather work against himself.  Good for him, I say, since that will hopefully teach him lessons to take into life as he learns to take responsibility for his own actions.  He sorely needs to learn that.

Without looking up as I walked into the room, Nate asked evenly, “Do you want to play golf tonight, Dad?”.

My plan for the evening changed immediately.  No way am I giving up that opportunity.  I think I have said this before — the golf course is where Nate and I relate to each other the best, where he treats me like his father rather than his opponent (so normal for a teen, I know). 

Last night was no exception.  Maybe it was the perfect weather.  Maybe it was just the way things went for the both of us because it was as if both Nate and I were being rewarded for our efforts of late, a blessing of good fortune bestowed on us.  I golfed better than I ever have, well enough that Nate was openly showing his appreciation.  Nate’s game suddenly came together, back to what it had been last year (which was very good) and better. 

“Kind of see what is important about this game, eh?  You have to stay with it or it doesn’t stay with you.  Your practicing is paying off.”

A good evening and a good opportunity.  Yeah, I could have spent the evening by myself on my bike, perhaps more relaxing to me.  Perhaps not.  I even got a bonus from Nate last night.  While we were unloading our golf clubs from the back of my car, Nate noticed my new bicycle rack, asked about it.  Then he told me he wants to go mountain biking with me soon.

Really?  Wow.

 

Take That You Stinking Rain Clouds

Tags

mountain biking, pleasure

Last night presented a few hours of dirty revelry for me.  Ooooooh boy did I get down and dirty, nasty filthy.  Conditions were a tad wet, slick in spots, but quite pleasurable.  So satisfying was the experience that I went back in for more, three times to be exact.  My stamina was strong even in the hot, steamy conditions.  After the second time, a friend joined me.  He noticed that I had found the flow and wanted to follow me in.  By the time I was done I had worked up quite a sweat.

What?

I laughed at the large, dark clouds approaching from the west last evening and decided to take my lonely mountain bike to my favorite trail system, Saw Wee Kee Park (check out the link, even has a trail map).  Saw Wee Kee is good for a quick evening dirt jaunt, the whole system easily rideable in less than an hour.  CAMBR, the organization that develops and maintains the trail system, posts trail status on their web site.  Last night status was still posted as red, meaning the trails were closed, still too wet to ride.  I went there any way as the last status was from last Saturday.  Saw Wee Kee always dries faster than the other trails around here.  If the trails were muddy, I would turn around and go home for a ride on my road bike.  The threatening storms ran out of energy with sun winning out.  It was a bit hot and humid, actually perfect conditions for riding a bike.  That also meant that the trails would dry out faster.

One of the regulars was cruising into the parking lot from the trail as I pulled up.  He assured me that the trails were indeed OK to ride, not ideal, but I would not be doing any damage to the trail by riding.  Etiquette is never to ride if the bike is leaving a mark on the trail.  Really it is just a common sense rule, as most rules are in my not so humble opinion. 

Of course, I forgot to bring something with me on this trip to the trail as I had done a week or so ago.  This time I could ride, though.  I failed to bring socks with me, so I was riding sock commando.  All I had to do was cinch up the straps on my riding shoes a bit tighter.

It felt so good to get on the bike again.  My last ride was two weeks ago so I was a bit tentative, nervous that I would be rusty.  If I was then I didn’t feel it.  That was part of my motivation to ride dirt trails on the mountain bike rather than road on the racing bike.  On the road my performance is more noticeable because I know how fast I am going by the speedometer on the bike computer.  The mountain bike does not have a computer.  Riding a mountain bike is more about skill, even more about fun.  Riding the mountain bike was a perfect way to get back after a long period of inactivity.

My typical ride starts from parking lot #2, through the Bobcat and Cat’s Tail, up the Lolligagger to the Jack Rabbit.  That is where the real fun starts as the Jack Rabbit offers up some quick twists, turns, drops and rises.  From there I take the Devil’s Dip back to the Colossus, then loop back from where I came from.  There is now a very challenging trail in between the Jack Rabbit and Doppelganger, so I take that back towards the front of the park where I ride the fast drops in the Concession Stand before riding the fast moving Vertical Velocity, Boulderdash, Screamer, and Anaconda trails.  Occasionally I venture over to the Kentucky Rumbler that has a small technical section of trail that is a good warm up.  Once I am done with Anaconda, I either loop back into the park or visit the Wildcat and Timberwolf trails, then take a break in the parking lot.  When I say that I went back in three times, that means I came back to the parking lot then went back for another loop three times.

If I was a smoker, I would have lit one up when I was done….

 

 

 

Companions

Tags

cat, companions, dog

Chester and Nick begging for attention.

Breakfast is rarely ever a solitary event for me.  Rather it can be a challenge to pay equal attention to each furry friend!

Chicagoland, Yes, It Is My Fault

Tags

bike ride, weather, whiny stuff

I am about to curse the weather in Chicagoland for the rest of the afternoon and evening.  Why, you ask?  I will tell you why.

I am about to go home and put on my cycling clothes, then roll my bicycle out of the garage.  Shortly thereafter, rain will ensue.

The last two weeks have seen my cycling cursed.  Every chance I get to ride has either been preempted by rain, a family commitment that either I forgot about or that came in with the clouds, or my insane commitment to making sure the yard work gets done.

This afternoon is hot (close to 90 F) and partly sunny.  It rained a little yesterday, basically right after I rolled out of my driveway at dawn for a bike ride, but not enough that the dirt trails will not be rideable later on this afternoon.  My plan is to break the two week drought with a dirt trail ride for a few hours.

Why are there dark clouds gathering at my office ceiling?

Finally, I Can Relate To My Teen

Tags

discouragement, fatherhood, quitting

I wonder how many times in my life that I have felt like giving up?  Heck, it might be easier to figure out how many times that happens in one day.  Discouragement, inadequacy, fear of failure are all natural and something that one needs to learn to deal with as they mature.  Life is full of ventures into the unknown, expectations that seem unattainable.  Yet we make it, we survive, even succeed despite ourselves, the will to continue on without giving up a key to most successes.  Those successes are how we learn.

My son wants to be the best at everything he does.  At 15, that is a tough goal, especially since that boy has not learned to do the work to accomplish his goal for success.  Oh, he puts out the effort in short spurts, but wears down quickly as discouragement drags him down.  He just does not have the experience to see things through.

Forget listening to dad.  Dad says to stick it out, put in the hard work, see what happens in the future.  Forget that.  My boy wants it now.  Vehemently.  Often with an impatient rage that stems from discouragement that spirals out of control and takes over.  Irrationality sets in.

And makes him want to give up.

Last night Nate lamented that he wants to quit golf.  He played a tournament on Thursday and Friday, then again last evening.  None of the three were a success.  Nate struggled with his irons, previously a strength of his.  Reminding him of how well he has done in the past, how much he has progressed already this year (the kid can drive 250-275 yards straight up the fairway, consistently) does not help, nor does it help to remind him of the inconsistencies any golfer has to deal with.

“I want to play football, Dad”

Nope.  We have already shelled out too much money for golf this year.  Football will take even more and likely with less results.  My experience says that if he quits now, he will regret it when he (finally, if ever) makes it to adulthood.  I quit the varsity basketball team my senior year of high school with just a few games left in the season, something I regret if only because I let myself do something I don’t like to do — quit.  I am never going to encourage my son to quit.

That really is not easy to do.  I do not always lead by example, but often I do.

I wish my son could fast forward to being an adult, so I could tell him about the challenges I face every day, the possible discouragements that seek to take me over.  He is not going to understand them now.  If I could tell him how I feel doing a job I often don’t feel qualified for but know I have to keep doing, simply because that little voice that tells me to give up is covered up by a larger voice that reminds of what I do well, the strengths that I have.  I wish I could tell him about the discouragement I feel when he lambasts me for not giving him that smart phone he wants or the expensive golf lessons or the premium cable TV package.. the list goes on.. and how I wish I could just give him everything he wants, yet I know he will learn nothing and not mature beyond an entitled child if I did give him everything.  I wish him how hard it is to hold on to marriage when it feels like nothing is given in return, when I can’t see the benefits of holding on.

Then again, maybe he needs to learn that lesson.  There are times where the best thing to do is quit.  For example, I likely held on to my last job far longer than I should have.  The same might apply to my marriage.  If I think about it long enough, had I learned to quit when I should, my life might be a whole lot different, maybe better.

I know that is not right.  He should never quit.

Maybe I should think more about this one….

 

 

 

Komedy of Erorrs

Tags

biking, dimwit, sunny days

Oops.

Thunderstorms were supposed to happen today with the morning looking dreary, dark clouds looming over head and a strong wind gusting through the leaves of the maple tree outside my bedroom window.  Even though the odds of an overnight storm were in the favor of the rain gods, not a drop had fallen during the night.  Hot, humid weather had been pushed ahead of the storm front.  I awoke to the weak morning light, rolled over again as I observed the weather outside my window.  No bike ride for me today, I thought to myself as I drifted back to one of those dreamy half awake sleeps.  Thunderstorms were a sure thing the entire day as well as the remaining week.

A sunny blue sky greeted me as I left the building this afternoon at three thirty.  YES!!  I had an appointment with an investment analyst to finalize the transfer of my retirement account from my previous employer’s investment service to the one I had chosen.  The time consuming tasks had been taken care of in a meeting with the analyst last week, today’s meeting just a formality with only a few forms to sign.  Freedom was sure to follow, with visions of dry dirt mountain bike trails dancing through my head.  It had been a productive work day, my revelry earned, the satisfaction sure to add to the joy of the ride.

I — could — not — wait.

The anticipation felt like Christmas and my wedding night rolled into one (let’s face it girls, and I have to say this, most guys ain’t looking forward to the ceremony so much as what follows the ceremony — and at 53 years young a bike ride is like sex to me).

Maybe that is what made me a stinking muddle headed, scatter brained dimwit this afternoon.  I whistled a happy tune to myself as I changed into my new mountain biking clothes, the kind that do not look like spandex and more like regular shorts and a tee shirt.  The cool bike rack I have for my car installed easily, the familiarity now second nature to me.  My bike shoes, helmet, gloves, hydration pack were on the driveway next to my car, ready to be loaded in after I put my bike on the rack.

And that is where they stayed as I drove off to the mountain bike park.

On

The

Driveway

I was ten minutes away on the toll way before I realized that I had my bike and some socks, but my other necessities for the ride were still where I had set them on the driveway.  Oh well, I thought, not a big deal, what’s a few extra minutes.  I will still get an hour or so on the trails.  I licked my wounds, turned around, and drove back to retrieve the forgotten items.

Ahhhhh, the music was fine on the way there, until I looked in the rear view mirror and realized I had not secure the bike rack as I should have.  The support arm had moved out of position and the rack was being held to the car by the straps.

Oops.  A quick stop once I exited the tollway remedied that.  Not a big deal.  There had been no danger of the rack falling off.  Besides, the park was just a few short minutes away.  I would be bombing along the dirt trails in short order.

I was ecstatic as I parked my car at the trailhead, quickly putting my shoes and gear on and unloading my bike from the rack.  A pleasant fellow rolled up next to me, fresh from a good ride with a report that the trails were perfect tonight.  Oh yeah.  This was going to be good.  He asked me about the VW TDI diesel I was driving, complimented the car with the appreciation that comes from wanting the same car.  That felt good and I pedaled away towards the entrance to the trails with a satisfied grin on my face.

Why was my right cleat not clipping in to the pedal?  My pedals always work perfectly, but for some reason the spring loaded pedal was not engaging the cleat.

Did I mention that somehow I was more dimwitted and scatter brained than my usual state?  How about that the shoes I use to ride my road bike are made by the same manufacturer as my mountain bike shoes?  I liked the road shoes so much that I bought the mountain bike version of the shoe.  The shoe looks the same, but the soles and cleats are different.  My road cleats will not work with the pedals on my mountain bike.  You already know what happened.  I had picked up one of each when I left the house, did not even notice the difference in shoes as I put them on, so happy to ride was I.

As I left the parking lot, my mountain bike still clean as it hung from the rack on the back of my car, a favorite Kansas song (Miracles Out of Nowhere) both taunted and comforted me, lyrics haunting with a message meant for me:

Hey there Mister Madman, what’cha know that I don’t know
Tell me some crazy stories, let me know who runs this show
Glassy-eyed and laughing, he turns and walks away
Tell me what made you that way

Here I am just waiting for a sign
Asking questions, learning all the time
It’s always here, it’s always there
It’s just love, and miracles out of nowhere

Argggghhhhhh.  No ride for me tonight.  No ride in the morning either as I get the privilege of going out to coffee with my lovely daughter before work in the morning.

Who wants to bet it rains tomorrow, all day?

 

 

 

Excess

Tags

fitness

Saturdays are meant for excess, an extended recess.

No.  I do not mean excess food, although at times that does apply.  Nor do I mean alcohol.  Should you ever spend a Saturday with me, do not be tempted to attempt getting me to over indulge.  You will be sorry.  It is also very difficult to get me to do so.  Ask a multitude of Hungarians who in the first few weeks of May thought they could accomplish that.  They were not successful.

I woke up yesterday morning with a sharp pain in my lower left back.  That can only mean one thing — I overdid it on Saturday.  Generally, I can count on having a sore back at some point in May or June.  Once the weather gets warm, I want to do as much outside as possible which includes activities that put a demand on my core.  This pitiful individual has avoided core exercise, for the most part, the majority of my life.  There have been exceptions.  Exercise that involves high aerobic content and constant movement is what I enjoy, so I avoid the boring crunches and burpees and planks and sit ups.  Bleah.  So I suffer when my core gets those early summer/late spring tests.

Every time I wake up with that sore back, I swear I am going to start those core workouts.

To my defense, Saturday was BCD (Butt Crack of Dawn) day — out the door for a bike ride around 5:45 AM.  By 10, I had around 60 miles logged, fast miles with friends who keep me honest.  With base miles in, I am able to sustain 22-23 mph or faster for a long time, so the bike workout was pretty intense.  When riding with friends, pride takes over and everyone rides fast once the warm ups are done lest you be the weakling who falls behind.  One group I ride with awards the weakling of the day (or the no show) with a delivery of pansies at their office the following Monday!

Once the ride was done, I took a few minutes at home to cool down with a cup of coffee and FB trash talking (thanks, Mattie, for being a Saturday morning weenie — I felt so superior, you dog fart sniffing pillow hugger).  Then it was a quick change to lawn mowing clothes, although I have been known to mow the lawn in my bike spandex, and a trip to our friend’s house to mow their lawn. Yes, I mow lawns for free.  I am sick that way.  Just that way.  No other ways.  And I used my own lawn mower and gas (gasoline, although I could probably fuel a lawn mower that runs on methane).  Not to stop there, I mowed my own lawn when I got home.

3 PM.  I had an excuse to potato it the rest of the day.  So I did.  Got up to go out to dinner with Mir and shop for clothes.  Another benefit of outdoor activity is weight loss.  A friend saw me at church yesterday and quipped “Jeez, you sure have dropped some weight!”.  I did not know whether to say thanks or smack him.  Was I that much of a porker over the winter?  Oink.

So I woke up with a sore lower back.  Whined a bit whenever I sat down or tried to get back up.  But I did manage to work on a few bicycles, do some weeding, throw the ball for Nick da Sheltie.  There is a note regarding Nick — when he is through with playing fetch, he just takes the tennis ball to the back door instead of bringing it back to me.  That usually takes a long time.  Yesterday, I am not sure I even threw the ball ten times for him.  He sauntered slowly to the back door with tennis ball in mouth and waited for me to let him in.  Looks like even my dog needs a bit of charging up.

Or maybe Saturday night was Nick’s night of excess.  Only he knows.

Itchy and Scratchy

The season is here.  That’s right.  It’s scratch and bleed season.  As I sit at my keyboard, I am staring at an open wound inflicted by yours truly, the man who can not resist the itch of a mosquito bite.  The biting boogers were out last weekend as I sat peacefully enjoying the peaceful twilight on my front porch, stealthily perching between the hair on my ankles and stealing the life from my veins.  Generally only a few actually itch and I can usually resist the itch, even subconsciously, if the bites are below the knee.

I love the commercial from a few years back where a man eating food doused with tabasco sauce watches gleefully as a mosquito lights on his arm, drinks its fill, flies off and explodes in mid air, a victim of the tabasco that inhabited the man’s veins.  One of the little tricks I learned as a teen was mosquito torture. If a mosquito lands on a spot in the middle of a muscle, let’s say the forearm, one waits until the mosquito is in, then the muscle is tightened and held that way. The mosquito can not pull out and fills up until it finally bursts. The demented side of me likes to sit and watch that mosquito struggle as it fills and expands. That wound on my forearm is a result of doing just that.

Of course, when the mosquito bite is in an easily accessible place like my forearm, I itch it until it is raw. Usually I don’t realize I have been scratching the bite until I look at my arm to see the blood oozing in a little stream towards my hand. And even as it heals over the unconscious urge to scratch strikes. Several times today I reopened the wound. This afternoon my coworker came into my office to give me a note, a grossed out look on her face as she observed the open wound bleeding as I took the paper from her.

Ahhhhhh, the joys of summer. It will only get worse. One of the drawbacks of living in an area with lots of open fields, forests, and wetlands is the abundance of mosquitoes that appear in swarms at dusk each night this time of year. I will be a bumpy mess for the next few weeks.