Growing Up in Middle Age

Regular readers may have guessed, from the prevalent post paucity of late, that I've been over-busy. It seems this thing called "real" life -- whatever the hey that is -- will have its way with me, over and over. It's all good stuff, but I find myself, one more time, drastically cutting back training goals.

This seems to happen every season. You'd think I'd learn and just set humble goals, easily met, but that's not the Velophoria way. If I'm not striving for something, I tend to develop freezer rot. You pull me out and I have that grayish-greenish hue that makes you go, "Hmmmm...."

But striving is not restricted to exercise. We're in the process of adopting a child, and the intensity that involves in terms of time, energy, and emotions is not to be trifled with. (The rewards will be worth it.) And y'all have heard about me building my private practice up; things are going slow there and they have to speed up, because I'm taking a second day per week there starting June. And that's in addition to my steady job.

The irony is, I'm more equipped at 49 to deal with all this than I was at 29 or 39 (or, believe me, I would have gotten it all done back then!). I'm in better overall condition, and I have a better emotional foundation and larger store of valuable experience.

But a middle-aged body can only handle just so much.

I was training for a century this spring, not for the first time, but this time, it looked like I was on track. My long rides reached 50 miles a few weeks ago, and the engine was just racing. I was dropping friends on hills I usually crawled up. This is the year!, thought I. I was drooling at the mental picture of the white oval sticker with "100" inside, prominently place on my car bumper. Then... boom! My energy and motivation dropped off the end of a table.

You know it's time to change something when you look at your bikes in the morning and think, "Ecch."

So, back down to the humble 30- and 40-milers for me. Hopefully with some friends, to sweeten the ride. Growing up is a bear, and it doesn't stop when you graduate high school. It certainly has its rewards, and it's a choice I make enthusiastically.

But the trade-offs are tough!

They Don't Call It a "Personal Best" for Nothing

It's worth noting that this was essentially a private victory. The world barely notices the Olympic steeplechase champion.... The forty-year-old steeplechase champion of the World Masters Games is slightly more prominent than the employee-of-the-month at the Shop'N'Save. No, his triumpth had nothing to do with fame and everything to do with the fact that down that last stretch he went when he could have eased up. And it is a victory (or a failure) equally available to the less genetically endowed stuck in the middle of the pack. As with writing a book, exactly one person knows if you've given it your best shot, or if you've been satisfied with something less.

Bill McKibben, Long Distance: Testing the Limits of Body and Spirit in a Year of Living Strenuously

Sometimes, when I'm pushing myself like mad to edge up my average speed record for a familiar route by a measly one tenth of a mile per hour, I ask myself, "Who's going to know if I accomplish this? Why does it matter so much?" It's a really good question to use when I want to find out if it's worth it to use up so much of my limited weekly amount of bodily energy -- my wattage account, if you will.

Sometimes, the only thing to do is GO. Other times, I realize I want to spend that energy elsewhere -- either on Saturday's hard ride with my friend, or perhaps on a dinner date with my wife on Friday night. I'm 44, I've been under quite a lot of life stress lately (see recent posts), and this is only the beginning of my second year of sustained endurance training. I only have so much wattage to go around, and I've blown myself up big-time -- out of commission for many weeks at a time, more than once -- acting like I had more in the bank than I do.

Our society places a highly exacting value system on athletes: Those who suffer the most are called "heroes." And those whose busy lives, or limited bodies, demand moderation, get zero air-time or magazine covers. They are -- judging by their absence -- worthless, in the eyes of the media and the public at large.

The point is this: For most of us, not one other soul in the world cares whether we put in that extra interval. So, make sure it's worth it to you.

And if it is, then kill it. And enjoy the suffering all you can. 'Cause there's no-one to impress.