A common human trait is that we qualify
our lives wrongly. We all do it. When I look back at my life, at
the good memories that make me smile and the bad memories that refuse
to die, I count my life in days. That is, I recall the day this
happened or the day that happened, then I count those memorable days
up and that numerical tally of those days is the mathematical
expression of my life. Depending on how old you are, your total
might be ten thousand or twenty thousand or thirty thousand days. It
depends on your age multiplied by the probability that you
will do something worthwhile on a daily basis. It's not complex,
but it is difficult to calculate with accuracy.
Then I look forward. I pull up the
actuarial table that my life insurance agent uses to predict my
demise and I count my remaining time I have left in years. I think
about the days to come and I assume they will be too numerous to
count. I'm an optimist.
That's backwards. It isn't about math.
Euclid was wrong. The time already passed is meaningless. It
doesn't matter how many good or bad memories you have had up to this
point. The time left to each of us may be one day or ten thousand,
in the end, it matters naught. If we try to derive some mathematical
formula to categorize it, we miss the value, we miss the gift of
life we were given at birth. It isn't the number of days left that
matters, its the quality of those days that counts.
Last Saturday, I ran 6. It was a good
run, my knee wasn't paying attention and it forgot to fire a pain
salvo until about an hour after the run. That might sound bad, but
its good, really. See, it's like this; Knee pain and taxes are
really the same thing. You know your knee is going to revolt and you
know you have to pay taxes. Delay them both. Don't let your knee
revolt until after you finish your workout and don't pay your taxes
until next year. Or the year after. Delay delay delay.
Sunday, my daughter and I rode 56
miles, including a quick jaunt up Mud Mountain. My daughter isn't
used to the longer rides yet, so it was sort of a surprise she
finished so strong. I didn't expect that, I thought she was going to
blow up but she did great. For me that ride wasn't that big of a
deal. I can knock out 56 as easily as I can snap-hook a #2 Titleist
into the fat lady on the next fairway. I am not bragging. Cycling
is a function of money. If you have the funds to go to spin class all year long, if you swim or run or bike or lift or go
to yoga six to eight times a week, you can ride 56 without popping a
head gasket. I pay big money so that I can ride 56.
As I was thinking about my workouts
over the past weekend, I was comparing them and trying to decide
which one was the better, which offered the highest return on my
investment of time and effort. The run was harder, and therefore was
the better workout. The more I run, the better off I will be in
Lake Stevens, but the ride was by far a better day. I spent the day
with family, I rode to the top of Mud Mountain and spent a few
minutes taking in the view and I got to ride without a jacket, which
is a huge plus if you ride in the cold nine months of the year like I
do. And I got to ride with the view highlighted by the majestic
Rainier. It was a good day.
I am watching the Tour. Those guys are amazing. They can pull a big gear for hours on end and they weigh 150 tops. Freaks. See the link for a few fun stats.
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